


Holding On

by alyjude_sideburns



Category: The Sentinel
Genre: Drama, Established Relationship, M/M, Post-Series
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-21
Updated: 2014-01-21
Packaged: 2018-01-09 09:22:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 23,692
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1144282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/alyjude_sideburns/pseuds/alyjude_sideburns
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Naomi arrives at the loft, to tell Blair that his first lover, a man he has believed dead for twelve years, is in fact still alive...</p>
            </blockquote>





	Holding On

**Author's Note:**

> This story builds on what is almost a throw-away paragraph in 'And God Would Ask'.
> 
> Originally published in 2000, updated in 2011.

**Holding On by Alyjude**

 

> Sometimes, all a man can do is hold on -- for dear life.

*****

Blair hurried to the Volvo, threw the groceries into the back seat, jumped into the front and sped out of the parking lot. He was late and he'd really wanted to beat Jim home, have something that actually resembled a home-cooked meal on the table, and even a few candles. He checked his watch and swore under his breath. He'd never beat Jim...

*****

Jim rode up in the elevator, disappointment flowing from him. Blair wasn't home yet. Damn. Funny how a few weeks could get a guy used to something -- like Blair always _being_ there, not that he wasn't before they'd become a couple. But now, when he was there -- he was _there_ as in _here_. Jim leaned back and shook his head... he'd lost the ability to make sense... too much -- Blair. Too much Blairbody.

He smiled at that, remembering last night... Blair's body writhing under him, strong, stocky legs around his waist, hands tugging, words urging him on, sweat-soaked hair clinging to his face, the pillow, streams of sweat rolling down his chest, captured by swirls of chest hair... and Jim, looking down, seeing their bodily connection, his penis buried deep, and yet unable to see where he ended and Blair began... and later, Blair holding him, kissing the top of his head, and the peace, the sublime peace... never hoped for, never known, but finally found. With Blair.

The elevator door slid open, breaking his reverie and even before he stepped out, he smelled the flowers. Wild flowers. Naomi. He rounded the corner to find Blair's mother sitting on the floor outside their apartment, knees up against her chest, arms across her knees, head resting on her arms. She didn't move at his footsteps, gave no notice that she'd heard him.

"Naomi?"

She lifted her head, blinked and said, "Jim? Thank god." She stood quickly, her long, flowing blue dress dropping down as she smoothed it.

Jim could see the tear tracks, in spite of how she'd tried to hide them, to brush them away. He got the door open quickly and with a hand on her back, he ushered her inside.

Naomi gazed around the room, eyes not really seeing, still standing where she'd stopped once inside. "Blair?"

"He left before me, Naomi. Went to the store. Should be here any minute. Can I get you something to drink? Some tea?"

She shook her head and said, "I shouldn't have come. I could have just called, but..."

Jim's jacket was now on its peg, his keys on the small table and Blair's mother in his living room -- saying that she shouldn't have come.

"You haven't talked to him since that day at the station. I'd say being here was the right thing to do. If you ask me."

For the first time, emotion took center stage. Naomi's blue eyes flared with anger and bitterness. "I didn't ask you. And you have no right to judge me. And don't say you weren't, I could hear it in your tone."

"I'm not judging. Just -- commenting. You left that day and he hasn't heard from you since. He's needed you, called you. And why were you waiting outside? You have a key."

"Gave it back. Or to be more precise, mailed it back."

"I see. Blair never said anything. So you have communicated. I'm glad."

"No. Just the key."

_Just the key. Dear God._ Blair must have opened that envelope, and only a lone key falling out onto his hand... Fuck.

Jim marshaled his anger, walked to the sofa and with a wave, indicated a seat for Naomi. She looked at the sofa, at the door, and just when Jim thought she might bolt, she joined him.

"Why are you here?"

"Something I have to tell him."

"I see. Are you sure you wouldn't like something to drink? I'm getting myself a beer, it wouldn't be any trouble."

"No, I'm fine."

He got up, got his beer, twisted off the cap, tossed it toward the trash, missed, ignored it, took a long swallow, then walked back into the living room.

"He's a cop now, isn't he?"

Jim took another swallow. A long swallow. He brought the bottle down, wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and said, "Yes."

"I thought so. I knew he'd make it, that was never in question, whatever he does, he _always_ succeeds. But you know, he isn't happy."

_Don't get mad. Just don't get mad. This is your SO's mother -- technically... **your** mother-in-law. _ "He's doing a fine job of _looking_ happy. Personally, I've never seen him happier."

"You would know? You don't know him. Never did. And yes, I know, I'm sounding angry, bitter even. Well, I am. He had dreams, now he has a gun. I'm sorry if I can't reconcile that." Her voice softened at that last, her eyes going moisture bright.

"This isn't a discussion for us, Naomi. It's for you and Blair."

"No, it's for you and me as well. This is your fault. Because you didn't trust him, didn't believe in him. Do you, for one minute, think that any of that would have happened if you'd said, _'Blair, I know, I know you didn't do this. So how do we fix it?'_... What do you suppose would have happened then, _Detective_ Ellison?"

Jim didn't have to answer -- the front door swung open and Blair walked in, arms full. "Hey, Jim, man, give me a hand and I'll give you one."

"Blair."

He froze. Turned. "Mom?"

"Paul is alive."

*****

_Paul is alive._

The words hit Blair with the force of a well-delivered blow to the solar plexus. The groceries dropped to the floor as his hands went numb. He was aware of everything and of nothing. He knew Jim was staring at him, shocked enough that even he ignored the fallen bags. He could see his mother was taking something from her purse, some paper and unfolding it, but he was completely unaware of himself. Suddenly he couldn't hear his breathing, or his heart-beat, couldn't _feel_ his existence.

"I saw this in the newspaper, Blair." She held out the item she'd been unfolding and waved it at her son. On automatic pilot, he stepped forward and took it from her hand as it waved over the back of the couch. He held it, eyes staring at nothing, as Jim said, "Chief, what's going on? Who's Paul?"

Naomi answered for Blair, "Paul was Blair's first -- love. His only love. They were inseparable and forever. Paul died in an auto accident during Spring Break."

"Mother, stop it." Blair's voice was strong and angry, but he finally glanced down at the article copy.

The article was about some demonstration in Wyioki, a suburb of Cascade. Evidently a park was in danger of being flattened for a parking garage. Several teachers from the Lionel S. Wyioki Elementary School had led the demonstration. The article included a picture of the students marching in a circle, signs raised high as they tried to protect their endangered park.

It was clear that the picture had not been posed. In the background, one teacher knelt beside one of the children whose sign had dropped. The teacher had very short, close-cropped hair, a moustache and a goatee. Both child and teacher were obviously unaware of the photographer.

"This isn't..."

"Yes, it is, Blair. You know it is."

"It's been over ten years and he _died_ , Naomi. This isn't Paul."

"There's an easy way to find out. Go to the school."

"Chief?" Jim interrupted, "Talk to me."

But Blair was staring at his mother, eyes narrowed. "Why are you doing this? Why did you bring this? You haven't talked to me in weeks, you don't take my calls and now you show up out of the blue and try to tell me that a grainy photo in a local paper is Paul?"

"I want you to be happy. I deliberated long and hard before bringing this. Just go to Wyioki, check it out."

"Who says I'm _not_ happy? And while I'd love for Paul to be alive, it wouldn't change my life now."

"Blair, you _loved_ him. It nearly destroyed you when he died, or don't you remember who had to pick up the pieces?"

At those words, Blair's eyes were drawn to the confused pale blues of his partner. Jim was staring at him, jaw clenched, hands in tight fists by his side. "Jim..."

"Maybe you _should_ go to Wyioki, Chief. If this Paul meant that much to you, you need to know in either case." As he spoke, he moved to the door and grabbed his jacket, slipped it on and added, "I've got some errands to run and it's obvious you and Naomi need to talk. I'll be back in awhile." He opened the door and walked out, the door sliding shut quietly behind him.

Blair watched him leave, his heart torn. "Dammit."

"Blair, go to Wyioki."

He whirled on her, eyes ablaze. "You don't get it, do you? I love Jim. I've loved him almost from he beginning. We're a -- couple now. Do you understand?"

She stood quickly, her purse sliding to the floor. "Blair, I -- I didn't know."

"No, you didn't. But you would have, if you'd answered my calls, or letters, or e-mails. If you'd ever really listened. But you never do."

"Blair, honey, what if it _is_ Paul?"

Blair had no answer.

*****

Jim drove in circles, having no errands, but needing to think.

Paul. Some guy named Paul. A man whose death so destroyed Blair that Naomi had been needed to _'pick up the pieces'._

His stomach lurched and his heart constricted. He couldn't lose Blair now. He couldn't. Somehow, the circles ended and he found himself driving north, toward Wyioki. It was a short drive and he knew the school. He stopped in front, gazing up at the empty building, school long since out for the day. He half-hoped a tall man with a moustache and goatee would come down the steps.

But, of course, no one did. He turned the truck around and headed back into Cascade.

*****

"Blair, I'm sorry."

Lifting a ravaged face to her, Blair said, "Are you? You can't tell me you didn't know how I felt about Jim, don't try to tell me that. When you were trying to help Jim and me, after the dissertation fiasco, you knew. You knew."

"Blair, this isn't your life. I know that; deep in my heart, I know that. God knows I've tried to accept this, even going so far as to be present when they offered you the opportunity to be Jim's real partner, but..."

"I know. But... you felt guilty and it was the only way you had to make it up to me. I'm not stupid. Of course, weeks of no contact was a definite clue."

Naomi couldn't argue with him, not when every word was true. But she had to make him understand how wrong this life was for him. Had to protect him, even from himself. "Honey, I looked really hard at that picture and I'm convinced it's Paul. There just couldn't be two people who look that much alike, even after all these years. It's only right that you seek him out, find out what happened, if for nothing else than to bring you closure."

"There is closure, Naomi. I closed it years ago."

Her shoulders slumped as she found herself coming up against his stubborn streak again. "Blair, I remember so well how you reacted when you got that phone call, how it tore you apart. You couldn't function, wouldn't eat, you just sat in his room, holding his sweater. It took wee--"

Blair shot up, his eyes full of hurt and anger as he faced his mother. "YOU STILL DON'T GET IT, DO YOU? I WAS A FUCKING KID, IN A WORLD I WAS IN NO WAY EQUIPPED TO HANDLE!"

Blair suddenly took a deep, ragged breath and sat down, his body suddenly boneless. He had to make his mother understand. "Mom," he said more softly, "Paul was -- wonderful. He loved me, cared for me, protected me and gave me everything I needed at the time. He provided a stabilizing male influence, but it wasn't all roses, mom. Don't glorify it. He gave me a great deal, taught me open affection, gave me a sense of permanency."

"If that last remark was aimed at me, I've never heard you complain before. Not in Greece, or the Orient, or Brazil, or Rome, or..."

"JESUS, DO YOU EVER LISTEN?"

Naomi bowed her head as she carefully picked up her purse, tucked the picture back inside, stood and said, "It would seem that this conversation is at an end. When you're a little more clearheaded, call me. I'm at the Prescott."

She walked around the couch, head held high and without a backward glance, walked out.

And it seemed to Blair that people were always doing that to him.

*****

**The Past:**

"Do you have your books?"

"Got 'em," Blair answered, a piece of toast sticking out of his mouth.

"What time should I meet you at the Student Union?"

"You tell me."

"Well, my last guest lecture should be finished by twelve-thirty, you?"

"Fine for me, twelve-thirty it is." Blair started for the door, but was stopped by Paul's husky voice.

"Did we forget something?"

Blair smiled, balanced his books and the toast, then leaned down to plant a wet one on his lover's waiting lips. When they parted, Paul smacked his lips and said, "Um, raspberry jam, tastes good."

Blair laughed and headed out one more time, but his books had another idea as he wobbled and they went crashing to the floor.

"Shit, now I _really_ will be late," he said, as he bent to retrieve the tomes.

"You're always late, Blair. A few more minutes won't hurt."

"You could help instead of sitting there snickering."

"I could, but this is more fun."

"Shitface."

"Um, tonight."

Blair opened the door, still balancing as he screwed up his face and said, "Man, you are so gross."

"Yep," Paul said, a definite wicked gleam in his eye.

Blair laughed and was out the door before anything else could happen.

As Paul watched him exit, he decided it was time to get Blair a bookbag. Yeah, that was just what he needed.

*****

He strolled down the aisles, checking out the bags and backpacks, looking for just the right one. It had to be sturdy, not geekish, but definitely usable and long term.

Paul knew how much traveling Blair had done as a child, how many times he'd packed up and moved away. Paul wanted him to know he still had that option, that freedom. Not that Paul would ever let him go, but he wanted Blair to _feel_ as though he could.

As he moved down the aisle, he spotted the bag. Dark brown leather, strong shoulder straps, roomy inside in spite of being very compact. He lifted it from the peg, proud of his choice.

*****

Blair sat down, his mustard-and relish-slathered hotdog in front of him. He'd waited for over thirty minutes, but with only twenty-eight minutes of his break left, he'd given in to the temptation to eat.

"You don't really want to eat that, do you?"

"Shit, Paul, don't do that."

Paul slid in beside him and taking the hot dog in his left hand, he said, "They have a nice crab salad today, how 'bout I get us both one of those?"

Blair sighed and gave his hotdog one last lingering look before nodding. He watched the junk food hit the trash with another sigh. Did he like crab?

A few minutes later, Paul returned bearing two salad plates and iced tea. As he sat down, he said cheerfully, "Looks like cooking class was at it again, thank God."

"Yeah, the school cafeteria never has anything that looks this good."

"Well, dig in, you only have about twenty minutes left. But don't gulp it, you'll get indigestion."

"Paul, I'm eighteen, I don't _get_ indigestion."

"Um, there's always a first time. Now eat."

Blair laughingly obliged and found that he actually liked the salad. Maybe not as good as the hot dog, but very tasty.

Between mouthfuls, Paul asked, "What's your next class?"

"Tribal cultures with Montgomery."

"Well, I'll be in Sylvan's office, preparing my notes for the last lecture series, so we probably won't have an opportunity to meet up before going home."

"Hey, no problem. What do you want to do for dinner?"

"I'm thinking -- Russell's?"

"You want to eat out again?"

"Well, I'm in no mood to cook after a day of talking to idiots masquerading as adults, and you _don't_ cook, so yeah, eating out seems to be the choice."

"How 'bout I try that vegetable lasagna you like?"

Paul gazed at his young lover, his expression disbelieving. "You? Cook?"

"I can try. I might be good at it."

"Blair, you're smarter than anyone here and you're cute as a button, but cooking? I don't think so, not safe."

"I'll try."

"Okay," Paul shrugged. "But you have to clean up as you go, no mess, understood?"

"No mess."

*****

Blair surveyed the destruction facing him. Shit. It was a mess.

The lasagna was in the oven, but there were pots, pans, bowls, utensils and wooden spoons all over the place. He was in big trouble. Well, there was only one thing to do. Clean up fast, before Paul got home.

He'd just turned on the hot water when the door opened and Paul walked in, calling his name. "Blair? Hey, something smells terrific."

"Uh, yeah, uh, don't come into the kitchen, I want to surpris--" Too late, Paul was already _in_ the kitchen. "Uh, Paul? I'm cleaning it right now, okay? You won't even know I was ever in here, promise."

Paul's eyes darkened, not in anger, he never got angry, but in disappointment. Blair could see it in his body language. He felt as though he'd just fallen twelve floors in an elevator before someone applied the brakes.

"It's a simple thing, Blair, to just clean as you go. Then you wouldn't have anything to do now. We _could_ be doing something else while the food cooks." He turned and walked out, throwing out, "I'm taking a shower."

Blair swallowed the small tinge of anger he'd begun to experience and started to do the dishes. After all, Paul was right.

*****

They ate in silence, Paul further disappointed by the lack of salad or wine. When he'd sat down, the lasagna bubbling in front of him, he'd asked, "Wine, salad, Blair?"

"Well, we had salad for lunch and we're out of wine."

Paul had put his fork down with great patience and explained, "But that's exactly my point. You should have thought of that, Blair."

There had been no further talking after that.

The rest of the evening passed just as silently, Blair doing some work on his thesis, Paul watching a Maria Callas special. At midnight, Paul clicked off the television and announced his decision to go to bed.

An hour later, Blair gave up, closed his laptop, made sure the apartment was locked up tight, shut off all the lights and walked into the bedroom. Without turning on a light, he undressed and slipped in behind Paul, spooning up, his left arm dropping over Paul's waist.

The older man rolled over, yawned and sleepily asked, "What time is it?"

"About one. Sorry about tonight."

"Next time, you will have learned."

Blair tried to scoot under Paul's arm but the older man said, "I'm tired, Blair." He rolled over, his back to Blair.

*****

The next three days saw no thawing of Paul's emotions until Friday night.

Blair got home early and immediately set about to cooking another dinner. This time, he cleaned up as he cooked and by the time Paul arrived home, Blair had chicken stir-fry, a chopped vegetable salad and a bottle of Chardonnay waiting.

"Blair?" Paul questioned, surprised delight spreading over his features.

"Just thought we'd eat in tonight. Is that okay with you?"

Paul walked up to Blair and pulled him into his arms. "This is better than all right, Blair, this is perfect."

Laughing and sharing stories about their day, they ate heartily and just a bit quickly. They also consumed the whole bottle of wine.

After cleaning up the dishes, they moved into the living room, but any ideas of watching television were quickly dispensed with as Paul immediately took Blair back into his arms, claiming his mouth. Their lovemaking quickly escalated.

As Paul climaxed, moments after Blair, the younger man whispered, "Love you, Paul, love you."

Paul buried his tongue in the sweet darkness that was Blair's mouth, swallowing the words.

*****

**The Present:**

Mentally and physically exhausted, Blair hauled himself from the couch and shuffled into the kitchen to start dinner, hoping that Jim would come home.

*****

Blair had picked the groceries up from the floor and started an easy pasta dish. He was in the process of creating the salad when Jim walked in.

Blair continued chopping the red peppers, his hands shaking slightly. Jim hung up his jacket, then came up behind him, and wrapping his arms around his waist, he dropped his head onto Blair's shoulder. "I was afraid that if I stayed, I'd say something to Naomi that we'd both regret. Sorry."

"That's okay, Jim. I understand." Blair continued chopping.

"You know, if you chop any finer, we'll have invisible peppers in the salad. Why don't you let me take over while you take a nice warm shower, um?"

It was a thoughtful offer and Blair, knowing that he was tighter than a drum, accepted the gesture. He turned the knife over to Sentinel fingers and slid away.

As he walked into the bathroom, his sweats over his shoulder, he wondered what was wrong with him. Jim didn't expect anything of Blair, there weren't any manipulations going on, and yet, Blair hadn't been able to do something as simple as turn in the older man's arms and kiss him. And he'd wanted to -- badly.

He dropped the clothes onto the toilet seat, turned on the shower and after adjusting the temperature he slipped out of his work clothes, stuffing them into the hamper, then stepped under the hot spray.

For several minutes, he just let it hit his body, turning so that the water struck his tense back and shoulders. He dropped his head forward, letting the steam swirl around him, enveloping him its soothing warmth.

Now that Jim was home, Blair could give his thoughts free rein. And he could stop lying to himself. The picture _had_ been of Paul. Or his exact double. The years had not changed the older man much, except for the goatee.

Blair had known the man intimately, had been familiar with the line of his jaw, his nose and his hands, all clearly shown in the picture. He'd known the moment he'd looked at it that it had been Paul. But he hadn't wanted to do anything about it.

He still didn't.

Oh, there was mild curiosity about what had happened, but that was it. Truth be told, Blair's emotions seemed to be on hold. His 'reunion' with his mother certainly hadn't gone as he'd prayed, and her stubbornness in the face of his wishes seemed to point once again to his inadequacies as a son. He was tired, and there was a strange feeling in the pit of his stomach that he didn't like.

The water went lukewarm so he quickly rinsed and shut off the tap. Grabbing a towel, he dried off, slipped into his sweats and with another towel around his neck, to aid in drying his hair, he walked back into the living room.

Jim had a fire going and other than the small light over the sink in the kitchen, there was no other illumination. Jim was standing by the windows, gazing out over their city. At Blair's entrance, he turned and asked, "Feel better?"

"Yeah, much. You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"Well, I'm going to bed, get a leg up on counting sheep." Blair smiled, but it didn't take a Sentinel to note that the smile never reached Blair's eyes.

"I'm thinking -- we should talk."

"Jim, I can't afford a skywriter, so I'll just have to take a full page ad in the Enquirer."

"Ooh, very funny, wiseguy. You telling me you _don't_ want to talk?"'

"I have no burning need to converse. I don't love Paul, I won't suddenly _start_ to love him if I see him again, which I don't plan on doing. I love you, only you. I never loved Paul, not really. He gave me a great deal, taught me a few things -- some of which you've thoroughly enjoyed, by the way. He taught me physical affection, something Simon definitely regrets. But Paul also tried to control me by manipulating me, by making me feel inferior, insecure and somehow _less_ than others." Blair paused, cocked an eyebrow and added, "Now, do you really need to talk about it?"

"So, basically, you're saying that I have nothing to fear but fear itself?"

"Nicely put, Mr. Roosevelt. And yes, that's what I'm saying. I'd die if I lost you. I didn't die when I lost Paul."

"But Naomi had to pick up the pieces, Chief."

Blair sighed and stepped over to the couch and sat down. It was obvious that they _were_ going to talk about it.

"Yes, I nearly lost it, but from guilt, Jim. Just before Paul left to spend two weeks with his brother, he and I had a gigantic fight. I told him I might move out while he was gone. The last thing I said -- no, _yelled_ \-- was that I didn't think I ever wanted to see him again. I received the call later that night. Yeah, I had some issues and I guess you could say I had a kind of breakdown. But hell, that was a heavy load for a guy who had just turned eighteen."

"Shit, Blair."

"No shit, Jim."

Jim smiled at that and sat down next to his lover. They gazed at each other for a moment before Jim pulled Blair down, the younger man's head resting in his lap. "I'm really sorry, Blair."

Blair curled up, taking the moment for however long it would last. "Not your fault you're insecure, Jim."

Ellison could hear the smile in Blair's voice, and he gave him a gentle thunk on the top of his head. "I'm not insecure. Just..."

"Insecure?"

"That's a much better word."

They were silent, each enjoying the tranquility and solitude of the moment. Jim's fingers moved gently through thick, damp curls as he watched Blair's eyes drift shut. He lowered his head and dropped a kiss on the temple and whispered, "I love you."

The eyelids fluttered open and Blair grinned. "You are _so_ insecure."

"Well, in that vein -- are you going to see him?"

"No."

"You should."

"No."

"So it is him."

"Damn." Blair pushed himself off of Jim's lap to stare at him. "Can't you leave it alone?"

"I probably should, but it would appear not. That insecurity thing, you know?"

"Explain?"

"If you don't see him, I'll always wonder, and worry. And then I'll start repressing and you know where that'll lead." Jim said it all with a smile, but it didn't relieve Blair one bit.

"What, you're going to repress _me_?"

"You never know. I've repressed _bigger_ things than you, squirt."

"I'm chuckling here, Jim. See?" He pointed to his frowning visage.

"See him, Blair."

"Watch my lips, Jim. N-O. And unless you want me back in my old room at night, you'll drop it."

"Oh, my God. How long have we been a couple? And you finally used the old _'withhold sex'_ thingy on me?"

"Is it working?"

"Well, it has very real possibilities."

"Good."

*****

**Friday -- Prescott Hotel:**

Naomi sat at the small desk, telephone book on her lap. Her finger was hovering over the Wyioki Elementary School number. She picked up the phone, dialed and after three rings, it was answered. She quickly hung up. She stared out the window for several seconds, then closed the book, got up, picked up her purse, the rental car keys, her hotel card and left the room.

It took her over forty minutes to find the school, in spite of excellent directions provided by the concierge. She parked across the street, got out, waited until the traffic cleared, then walked across and into the building.

She went into the Administrative Office and up to the counter. As she waited for the school secretary to get off the phone, she gazed about her, noted the crayoned pictures adorning one wall, the two small children sitting on the bench behind her, one of them so very like Blair...

"May I help you?"

She turned back to the woman and smiled as she answered, "Yes, I'm looking for a teacher, Mr. Paul Lopez?"

"Oh, yes, Mr. Lopez is in room twenty-one, end of the hall. His students are at recess so you can go right in."

Naomi thanked her and walked down the hall, her mind moving back in time, remembering all the halls she'd walked down, to listen to teachers tell her what was wrong with her son, telling her that she was the problem...

Room 21. She gave a quick look in the small door window and he was there, at his desk, working. She pushed open the door and went inside.

"Mr. Paul Lopez?"

The man glanced up, stood and held out his hand. "Yes, I'm Mr. Lopez. How may I help you?"

She strode in, took the offered hand and said, "I'm Naomi Sandburg. _Blair_ Sandburg's mother." She waited.

His hand dropped from hers as his face paled. He reached back blindly, pulling his chair to him as he collapsed. "blair."

It was all he said, but it was enough for Naomi. "We need to talk, Mr. Lopez."

*****

The partnership of Ellison-Sandburg closed two cases as Friday progressed, but as is the nature of crime and police work, three new cases were opened and assigned to the team. It was the second case that kept them busy the rest of the afternoon and neither man had much opportunity to think about Naomi Sandburg or Paul Lopez. By the time they were making their way home, they were too tired to reopen the discussion.

Together, they worked in perfect unison to prepare a light supper consisting of a chopped vegetable salad and garlic bread. They sat down, dug in and enjoyed the first peaceful moment of the day.

As Jim observed his lover, he noted a certain tenseness he hadn't seen before. It was in the way he moved, the slow, deliberate way he ate and the manner in which he talked with Jim, which was to say, Jim did all the talking while Blair nodded and added the occasional "ah-huh."

As Jim sat back, sated and comfortable, he further noticed how little Blair had actually consumed. "Not hungry tonight, Chief?"

"Um, no, not really. Tired, but not hungry."

"Should I say, 'Want to talk about it, Chief'?"

Blair smiled his first real grin and shook his head. "If I knew what to talk about, I'd be happy to do it, but I don't."

"Ah, Blairspeak for the fact that you really _do_ know, but are refusing to acknowledge it."

Blair gave him a withering look that encouraged the older man to raise his hands in the air and say, "Oooh, I'm scared, Chief."

"And I'm going to bed." With those words, he walked upstairs, leaving a stunned Jim behind.

Okay, this was not good. It was only a little before seven -- on a Friday night. And Blair was going to bed. Damn Paul Lopez and _damn_ Naomi Sandburg.

Jim thought about going upstairs, but his fear that if he actually forced the issue he would hear exactly what he didn't want to hear, kept him downstairs. He did the dishes, sat down in the living room, flipped on the set and mindlessly surfed.

At a little after eight, someone knocked on the door. Jim had been concentrating so hard on _not_ thinking about Blair and Lopez that he was actually surprised. He walked over and opened the door to find Naomi standing in front of him -- and behind her, a man who could only be Paul Lopez.

Jim saw red. And purple and black and shooting stars and daggers and every other possible symbol for anger as he stared at his lover's mother. Before she could say a word, he stepped out into the hall, closing the door firmly behind him. "What the fuck do you think you're doing, Naomi?" he hissed out.

"Let me see my son, Jim."

"He's in bed and this is not going to happen. He made his wishes very clear and unless _he_ states that he's changed his mind, you are not welcome under these circumstances." How he controlled the anger boiling his insides, he would never know.

"It's not even eight-thirty, Jim. My son is not in bed. Paul has something to discuss with Blair, and we owe it to them both to let that discussion take place." This time, her voice was soft, almost pleading. And considering that Jim had been trying to get Blair to see the man standing in front of their home...

Jim wavered, then slowly reached back and opened the door.

*****

"...Chief," he whispered softly.

Blair turned over, obviously not completely asleep yet. "I've got nothing to talk about, Jim."

"Naomi is here. And she's _not_ alone."

Blair sucked in air, then rasped out, "tell me she didn't, tell me that, jim..." His voice was strained and painful for Jim to hear. Blair's eyes were wide, his hand raking through his hair, the sheet falling to his waist.

"I wish I could, Blair."

"Shit." Blair swore as he threw off the covers and climbed out of bed. As he pulled a sweatshirt over his t-shirt and stepped into a pair of scruffy loafers, he mumbled something about how if he were downstairs, in his old room, he could have ducked out the fire-escape door.

When he was ready, he turned to Jim and with infinite sadness, said, "I'm so sorry about this, Jim. It just seems, no matter what I say or do, I'm always blowi--" He stopped, took a deep breath and said, "I'm just -- sorry." He headed downstairs.

Jim followed him, worried, ready to give him all the support he might need. Halfway down, Blair paused. In the living room, Lopez was standing by the couch and at his first look at Blair, he walked over to the stairs, eyes shining.

"Blair."

*****

Lopez actually looked as though he might take Blair into his arms and Jim immediately bristled. Naomi stood and said, "Jim, why don't you and I go down to the café across the street and let these two men talk?"

Without taking his eyes from Paul's face, Blair said, "Jim isn't going anywhere, Naomi, but you can."

Naomi sat back down.

"Paul, I don't know what my mother told you when she sought you out, but this is not what I wanted. You had a reason for letting me believe you were dead; so be it. It's over, it's in the past and it has nothing to do with today."

Paul absorbed Blair's words, glancing briefly past Blair's head and up to Jim, then back down to his ex-lover. "Blair, I went into the Witness Protection Program." Then he added softly, "I couldn't risk your life."

At Paul's words, Jim decided Naomi was right and with his heart in his throat, he said with surprising calm, "Naomi, why don't you and I go down to Starbucks?"

Naomi stood and nodded as Jim moved past a frozen Blair. As Jim squeezed past him, Blair flung out one hand and said, "No, stay, Jim." But then, seeing Jim's face, he added, "Okay, maybe you should go."

Jim smiled at him and, taking Naomi's arm, he led her out the front door.

As the door shut and silence descended, Blair found himself staring at the man below him.

Paul had changed, but the change was not physical. The change went much deeper. It was in his eyes, the way he held himself. The self-assurance that had defined the man seemed gone, and the expression behind the brown eyes was guarded. But the smile on his lips was genuine.

"I seem to have walked into the middle of a family dispute. Blair, I'm sorry."

Sandburg took the last steps down into the living room and indicated that they should sit. As they each took one end of the same couch, Blair said, "Not your fault."

"You're with this Detective Ellison now?"

Blair nodded, suddenly unwilling to give more than the briefest explanation for anything.

"So, I guess I'm confused. I understood how Naomi found me, and I thought I understood why she visited me today, but now, well, it would appear that you're perfectly happy without me."

Blair's head snapped up at that and he said with a distinct chill in his voice, "Yes, Paul. Happy for over ten years -- without you."

"I guess -- I deserved that." He stood and walked to the stereo, where he picked up one of the many pictures that adorned the cabinet. Smiling, he asked, "You look good here. When was this taken?"

Blair glanced at the picture and answered, "The summer of eighty-eight. I was on an expedition. The other man is Dr. Stoddard. You remember me telling you about him, don't you?" The sarcasm was not lost on Paul, who quickly replaced the picture.

"Blair, _you_ decided not to accompany Stoddard on that first expedition. And I agreed with your decision. It was dangerous and you were too young and inexperienced."

"Don't lie to yourself, Paul. We both know what you did to _'assist'_ me in my decision to turn Stoddard down."

"Why are we going over this now? Is my being here a complete waste of time?"

"In a word? Yes."

Paul moved to stand over Blair, his eyes taking in the younger man's appearance, the stubborn set of his chin and the challenge in his eyes. This was _not_ the Blair Sandburg he'd known. "You've grown cruel, Blair. Is that what becoming a cop has done to you? The Blair I knew would never have been so heartless."

"That Blair was eighteen and a fool."

"Whoa. Another low blow. It doesn't seem to matter to you that I gave up everything to keep you safe?"

"And how did you do that, Paul?"

"Not that I think you care, but you need to know, to hear me out. I witnessed something, something I shouldn't have. I reported it. Does the name Jackson Benning ring a bell?"

Blair frowned in concentration and then nodded. "Yes -- racketeering, strong-arming and finally murder. Convicted in 1987."

"Convicted because of my testimony. Those meetings with my publisher? Closed hearings and depositions. Then the FBI received information that Benning had put a hit out on me. That's when it was decided to fake my death and set me up with a whole new identity. They knew of you, of course, and I was given the choice. I could tell you, take you with me but, Blair, I couldn't do that to you. I couldn't risk your life or put you into a position of always having to look over your shoulder, of giving up your career. So -- I disappeared after the fake accident."

*****

Jim sat at the small table, a plain coffee in front of him. Naomi sat opposite, a latté in her hands. She was uncertain of what to say to this man, the man Blair claimed to love. She liked Jim Ellison, had even considered him for herself when they'd first met. There was something just so damn -- protective about him. To this day, she didn't have a clue as to what had stopped her. The fact that he was her son's roommate, partner and friend had not been the reason. She'd dated Blair's friends before, and it had never bothered either one of them.

She watched his hand and the strong, slender fingers turning the cup endlessly, his eyes staring at the dark liquid as if he could see the future of the world in its amber depths. She frowned in confusion as she realized with a start that Detective James Ellison was afraid. This struck her as the antithesis of any emotion Jim Ellison could have. She'd seen anger over the dissertation, his mistrust of her son, his inability to accept who and what he was, and more importantly, his refusal to see the role Blair played in his life and the love her son had for him. But fear? For Blair? Or fear that Blair would leave him?

"You really love my son." It was said not in question, but as a surprised statement of fact.

Tired, miserable pale blue eyes glanced up at her as he nodded. "What, you thought I was just after his body, Naomi? A romp in the hay?"

"You wouldn't be the first, Jim. Very few people have seen all that Blair is and very few have ever bothered to look past his physical attributes."

"Paul Lopez being one of those who did?"

"Yes."

"Is that why you're always so protective of Blair? A protectiveness I've never understood, by the way. Most overly-protective mothers never let the child out of their sight. You go months without so much as a word."

She sat back, a small smile playing over her delicate features. "That was a mouthful, for you. And not easy to respond to either. On the other hand -- you've been living with him for almost four years, Jim. You should know these things yourself. You didn't even know about Paul, did you?"

He shook his head and waited.

"Doesn't that say something to you? Have you ever asked Blair about his past? About the time _before_ Ellison?"

"He doesn't -- share much about himself, you know that."

"You. Never. Asked. That's what I know. You let him in, let him live with you, do for you, help you until he was so entrenched in your life it became his. And yet, you never got to know him."

"Where's this heading, Naomi?"

"You're the man, you figure it out."

Suddenly, Jim smiled. His eyes crinkled at the corners as his face changed completely. She hadn't seen this side of Jim since that day on the bed, sharing memories of Blair.

"Sometimes, Naomi, you are so Blair."

She smiled a bit as she asked, "This surprises you? He's my son."

The smile drifted away as Jim glanced back down at his now-cold coffee. "You're right, you know. I never really delved into the man who took up residence in my home. Oddly enough, I thought of that as a sign of the implicit trust I had in him. Anyone could tell you that normally, the first thing I would have done was to run a make on him. But I didn't. I accepted him immediately."

"But you never got to _know_ him. Do you even know where he was born? Or how he really feels about not having a father, let alone not knowing who that man might be?"

"He was born here, in Cascade. And he makes no secret of how not having a father has affected him, which is not at all."

Naomi shook her head hopelessly. "Jim, he wasn't born here. He wasn't even born in the United States. And I bet he gave you that line about Timothy Leary, right? And how the parade of men through my life let him go to three World Series and no less than five MBA Playoff games. Am I close?"

Jim sat back, nonplussed.

"Jim, I'm well acquainted with my son's oft-used phrases regarding his birth. What has always puzzled me is that in spite of the many times he was referred to as a _bastard_ , and the many fights he entered into on my behalf, he still never shied from telling the truth about his lack of a father. And Jim, he's been called a bastard by children and then adults his whole life. By parents who didn't want their precious little darlings to play with _'that hippie whore's little bastard'_ , and teachers who hated a boy who was more intelligent than they. He was taunted, teased, hurt and ignored by neighbors, other children, hell, by my own family."

She leaned forward, locking eyes with Jim as she continued. "He was manipulated by the men in my life, or ignored, or used to get to me. Once in awhile, he was loved, but his mother had to be moving on, forcing him to say more good-byes." She caught Jim's expression and smiled wryly. "Yes, Jim, I am fully aware of what _I_ contributed to my son's insecurities. But I'm also aware of what I gave him -- namely the world."

Jim was dumbfounded by Naomi's revelations, by the sudden insight into the man who owned his heart. "I had no idea, Naomi. He's always so -- casual, about his childhood."

"Casual is simply a cloak for him. He wears it like his flannel. It's well-practiced and well-rehearsed." She took a sip of her warm drink as she regarded the detective.

"I'm confused, Jim. You say you trusted Blair, have this _implicit_ trust in him, yet you believed he could actually throw you over for his dissertation. Strange manifestation of trust."

"I didn't -- really believe it. Yet I couldn't not believe. All the fame he'd ever wanted, ever dreamed about and there it was, just waiting for him to take it. My experiences have taught me that that is what people do. What they have always done. And to believe otherwise, well, that meant that I would have to face my feelings for him, and then watch him leave me."

Naomi understood that Jim had just laid his soul bare to her. But she also understood that more was coming, that no response was desired.

"I'm not saying that what you've told me tonight isn't a surprise, because believe me, it is. But believe it or not, I know everything about Blair that is truly important.

"I know that his heart is too big. That he balances being a scientist with being an adventurer of the human condition and spirit, and that he'll use anything he has to help a friend in need. I know that people invigorate and excite him, that he's been touched by my work, but not changed where it counts -- in his heart. He has strange rules and codes of behavior, almost as if he's taken the best and the worst of the world's laws and decided for himself which ones are important and which are not. I know that his beliefs and mine are often diametrically opposed -- until I delve deep and discover that his way is the right way. I also know I can pretend to have control of my life, my home and my career, but I don't. He does. I know I can pretend that I've won an argument, but it doesn't take long for me to discover that I haven't. And I know that I love him as deeply as it's possible to love another human being without _becoming_ that other person."

Naomi slumped in her seat, her mouth hanging open. Jim Ellison had never said this much to her nor, she would bet, to anyone else either. And as he'd spoken, his eyes had shone with a love she'd never seen anywhere. A love she could no longer deny to her son. She had seen Paul Lopez three times in the months he and Blair had been together, but she'd never seen this.

"What would you do for _him_ , Jim?"

He frowned, not certain he understood her question. "What do you mean, Naomi?"

"Would you let him go, if he finds his feelings for Paul to be intact?"

The instant pain in Jim's gut nearly doubled him over; his grimace was so extreme that Naomi immediately leaned forward, covering his hand with her own to ask, "Jim? Are you okay?"

"I'm -- fine. And yes -- I would let him go. I love him -- unconditionally."

"No, Jim, not so unconditionally. Unconditionally means that if Blair _had_ leaked his dissertation, had taken all that had been offered, well, need I go on?"

"A man can learn, Naomi. My love _is_ unconditional. There is nothing Blair could do that would change my feelings for him. Nothing."

Oddly enough, she found herself believing him.

"What about you, Naomi? The worst crime that a parent can commit, and trust me, I _know_ , is to place conditions on their love."

"To quote a wise detective, _'There is nothing Blair could do that would change my feelings for him'._ "

"Is that why you haven't called him since he became a cop? Is that why you arranged this meeting tonight?"

She absorbed the questions, separated them in her mind, then tore each one apart. With brutal honesty, she examined herself in Jim's eyes, then her son's, then her own. As she searched deep within herself, she found answers that tore her asunder. Her face crumbled, lower lip trembling.

"I didn't... it was never my intention..." Her voice failed her as the enormity of what she'd put her son through, actually penetrated. The tears began to fall, silently and unhindered. Jim swung his chair around and gently took her into his arms.

For several minutes, she cried, only the tremors and slight shaking of her shoulders an indication of her quiet sobs. Finally the tears abated and Jim reached for a napkin and handed it to her. She took it gratefully, dabbed her eyes and blew her nose.

"We're quite a pair, aren't we, Naomi?"

She gave him a shaky smile as she nodded. "God, I _was_ punishing him for his decision. I was. And Blair was right, I _did_ know that he loved you, and still, I persisted with Paul. Dear God, I'm so sorry, Jim."

"Don't apologize to _me_ , Naomi. Besides, Blair had to see him, had to face the emotions. And if he does still love Paul, well, it's his happiness that counts."

She stared at Jim, seeing the depth of his love and knowing that if he lost Blair -- he lost himself.

"Paul's story is quite -- compelling, Jim. His decision to protect Blair, to sacrifice his own happiness... Blair might feel obligated..." her voice trailed off.

"Maybe you'd better tell me everything."

She took several minutes to fill him in. As she finished, he stood, threw down some money and said, "Come on, we're going to do some detecting. I may have accepted Blair Sandburg into my home without a background check, but I'll be damned if Paul Lopez is going to worm his way back into Blair's heart without a fight from me."

Smiling, Naomi rose, suddenly eager to help this man, to make things right. And wasn't Jim Cascade's Detective of the Year, two years running?

*****

When Blair returned to the living room, Paul was seated in the chair, his head in his hands. At Blair's appearance, he looked up, his face haggard. "Are you okay, Blair?"

Blair nodded in spite of the churning stomach and pounding head. And the questions swirling around in his brain.

"Why are you teaching here, in a suburb of Cascade and under your own name?"

"Benning died, Blair. In prison. The danger to me died with him. The FBI gave me the choice to remain where I was and who I was, or return to my old life. I chose to be who I am. They got me the job at Wyioki."

Lightheaded, Blair dropped to the couch. "I see."

So many missing pieces, tangents that Blair couldn't get his mind around, couldn't pin down. His guilt, _the_ guilt, seemed to grow inside him, almost as if it had lain dormant but now someone had sprinkled an entire package of 'Speedy Gro' over it.

Words from long ago, loud and angry, seemed to float around him and the loft shimmered and faded...

*****

**The Past:**

Blair stormed into the house, eyes blazing. This was the final straw; Paul had humiliated him for the last time. He threw his books down on the couch, heedless of the mess as they slid to the floor along with his papers. He kicked off his shoes and plopped down, his anger already muted.

Paul had gone too far this time, but the question was -- why? What would possess the older man to discuss Blair with his advisor? To say the things he'd said? Like how irresponsible _young_ Mr. Sandburg was and how it took constant attention on Paul's part to keep him in line _and_ in school? No one had to keep Blair Sandburg in school, _no_ one.

Why did Paul act this way? He could be so -- loving, so wonderful. But somehow, Blair could never seem to please him, not in how he lived his life and certainly not in bed.

He gazed at the calendar on the wall, at the dates that had been circled in red. The dates of the Stoddard Expedition. _Past_ dates. Forever-gone dates. Lost opportunities. Damn, he'd be lucky to ever be asked on another such trip.

His mind was so engrossed in his ruminations, he failed to hear the lock turn as Paul entered. Lopez took one look at the mess and said, "Blair, this is not what I enjoy coming home to, you know that."

Blair stood quickly, ready to correct the mess, until he remembered _why_ he'd left it in the first place. "Paul, we need to talk."

"I leave in less than two hours or have you forgotten? Talking is _not_ how I intended to spend this time with you."

"It's important."

"More important than the fact that I'll be gone for two weeks?"

"Yes. Because -- that's part of the problem. How _you_ can be gone for two weeks, but I couldn't be a part of an expedition for only three weeks."

"Blair, we've been all through this. _You_ decided to turn down the trip."

"Only after you made me feel..." He found he couldn't finish, it was too ridiculous.

"I made you feel what? I simply pointed out the dangers for someone so young."

"I'm eighteen."

"So you keep reminding me. It would be nice if you would _act_ eighteen. You're really still a child, Blair, and if not for me, I don't know what would have happened to you."

His words wouldn't have been so painful if said in the usual, soft, almost humorous manner in which Paul usually said them. But this time, the words were almost spit out and the derisive tone almost made Blair back down. Almost.

"I talked with Dr. Samuels today. It was -- quite illuminating."

Paul had picked up Blair's books, but now, at Blair's remark, he turned and with cold deliberation, threw them to the floor.

"You're bound and determined to start a fight before I leave, aren't you? That is so typical of you and so typically selfish. Your needs, Blair, always your needs."

Blair was astounded. _HIS_ needs? _His_? Jesus, he couldn't win. "I think, maybe, we should take a kind of 'Leave of Absence' from each other, maybe the whole summer. This relationship is not doing either one of us any good and I don't want to hate you, Paul. I love you."

Paul stepped close to Blair, his eyes cold. "Now you listen to me, Blair. You belong to me, do you understand?"

Shocked by Paul's words, Blair almost fell back. He didn't have a clue how to respond, his mouth working, but no words coming out.

When he finally found his voice, it shook as he said, "I don't think -- I don't think I'll be here when you get back, Paul. It might be better if we don't see each other again." It tore him apart to say it, let alone to mean it, but he found that he _did_ mean it.

Paul shook his head and smiled benignly. "You really are a child, with childish demands, and I refuse to be baited. I know you don't mean it, but you should learn, words can hurt, Blair. I want you to remember this moment, remember your behavior, and remember that sometimes we never have the chance to take back those foolish words. We'll talk when I return."

The discussion was over, Paul had spoken and with those last words, he left, his bags having been stored in the garage since that morning.

Three hours later the phone rang and a sobbing Michael Lopez told Blair that his lover was dead.

*****

**The Present:**

It was amazing how a thirty-year-old brain worked compared to an eighteen-year-old brain. The latter had been naïve and trusting, while the former had been around the block a couple of times. As the thirty-year-old Blair Sandburg re-lived those last minutes with Paul, the older man's words and demeanor took on a completely different meaning when combined with the information Blair now possessed.

"You bastard. Every word of our last argument was deliberate, wasn't it? You knew I would never see you again, that I'd be getting a phone call in a few hours, telling me of your 'death' and you made damn sure it would hurt. How did you put it, Paul? _'I want you to remember this moment, remember your behavior'_ \-- wasn't that it? What were you trying to do? Destroy me? Or make sure I'd be tied to you forever?"

Paul's eyes darkened, but his smile was gentle, loving. "Why would I do such a thing? Can't you see what you're doing, even now? God, Blair, even my 'death' is about _you_."

Blair wasn't listening, his trapped energy exerting itself as he began to pace, his fingers tearing through his hair.

"You knew I was already starting to separate myself from you, that I was outgrowing you, becoming more independent and you used that final argument, used it to hurt me. God, how could I have been so blind?"

Lopez took several steps toward the frenetically pacing man, his hands outstretched. "Blair, listen to yourself. My God, you're not the boy I loved. There's nothing of that sweet child in this room. Maybe he never existed, except in my mind. _My_ Blair was beautiful, inside and out. You're -- ice. I could never love what you've become, _who_ you've become. And Blair, I doubt that your detective loves you either. He may want your body, but that won't last. You're older and you're hard. There's nothing to love now."

Paul lowered his head, sadness enveloping him. "And as far as you becoming more independent, or mature, you're mistaken. It was selfishness. You were always selfish, I see that so clearly now. Always thinking of yourself. But about one thing you are right -- it would have ended because ultimately, you were incapable of sustaining love, of living a life that included someone else. Nothing mattered to you, not me certainly, only your science, your career. And judging by your fraudulent dissertation, you haven't changed."

Blair's eyes narrowed dangerously as the meaning of Paul's last sentence penetrated. With a voice full of suspicion, he asked, "What did you tell my mother, when she asked why you hadn't contacted me? She did ask, didn't she?"

"Yes, she asked. I simply told her the truth. That I wanted it to happen right, that I wanted to do it in the least painful man--"

"BULLSHIT! You saw the fucking press conference." Blair took a menacing step forward as he added, "I think you'd better leave."

"Your mother was right. This detective is no good for you. When I think of what you could have become, of the beauty that you were -- but now, I see only cruelty. It was a mistake to come, to believe that boy still existed, that we could recapture any of that love." He walked steadily toward the door, brushing past Blair, his words still flowing. "You'll never know what you were to me, Blair, or how much I loved that boy and how much I regret what he's become." His hand pulled at the door, opened it and as he crossed the threshold, he said, "You belong on the streets, with the other criminals. I feel for your mother."

And just like twelve years ago, he walked out.

Blair stared at the closing door and whispered, "Don't let the door hit you on the way out, asshole."

Unable immediately to move, Blair remained standing, his eyes glued to the front door.

"i could really wish you were home right now, jim," he whispered to no one.

*****

Slowly, Blair tore himself from the spot to which he'd been glued and walked into the kitchen. He opened a cupboard, took down a bottle and a glass, then walked to the balcony and stepped out into the night air.

He sat down, wondering if he should maybe go down to Starbucks, rescue Jim, prevent bloodshed. He decided to stay where he was. He opened the bottle, poured some of the amber liquid into the small glass and downed it in one shot. The scotch burned, then smoothed out and warmed him.

Jim rarely drank hard liquor, since the advent of his heightened senses, but the bottle was there and Blair _really_ needed a stiff drink. Or two.

Had he ever had scotch before? He didn't think so. It was -- good.

*****

It had begun to rain as soon as they'd gotten back into the truck to head for home, their little sojourn to the station having produced more than either had expected.

Naomi glanced to her left, seeing Jim's stern profile. He was angry, _really_ angry, on behalf of her son. She smiled. But then the smile died. "Jim, how can we tell him without revealing what we've done?"

"He'll understand."

"Jim, you..."

"I investigated his ex-lover. I would hope he'd do the same for me."

*****

"He's alone." Jim led Naomi from the elevator, ignoring her look of surprise at his pronouncement. He unlocked the door, letting Naomi precede him.

They stood for a moment, both looking around the loft, Jim's eyes going unerringly to the balcony. He took off his jacket, helped Naomi out of hers, then headed for his partner. He pushed open the window and stepped out, ignoring the light drizzle. "Blair? Buddy? You gotta be cold."

The head turned slowly, blue eyes blinking in confusion. "Jim? Hey, man. You're alive. Is Naomi?" His words were careful, too careful.

"We're both alive, Chief. Now, wouldn't you like to come inside?" Jim had spotted the bottle of Chivas Regal sitting by Blair's left leg and he could smell the alcohol drifting from Blair's body.

"Too hot -- too stuffy inside."

"Blair, it's raining. You know how you hate the cold and the rain, especially when _you're_ in it. Come on, buddy, come back inside."

A hand waved erratically as Blair said, "No, no, I'm fine. Cool and fine. Cold is good for me, you know. I'm cold. Hard."

Naomi was frightened. This was not her son. She wanted to go to him, to take him into her arms, but somehow -- with maybe woman's intuition, or a mother's intuition -- she knew that she had to let Jim handle this. She stayed back, just behind him, watching carefully, worried.

"If you're cold, let me take you inside."

"No, silly. Not _cold_ \-- _**cold**_. See? I'm a cold bastard." His words were starting to slur as he lost the battle to control them.

Jim knelt down beside him, one hand on Blair's arm. "Blair, what happened?"

Bleary blues tried to focus on him, but lost. "Nothing, Jim, nothing. He's gone. For good." Then Blair leaned in close, his breath a mixture of excellent scotch and Blair. "Wanna know a secret?"

Jim had no choice, he had to play along, try to get Blair inside. "Sure, do tell."

"You want me for my body. Isn't that a hoot?"

"Big hoot, Chief. Big hoot."

"Yeah, that's what I said. Do you like my body, Jim?"

"You have a fine body, Chief. I'd rank it number one on my list of favorite bodies."

Blair pushed at Jim and snorted. "Get real, man. Although you do seem inordinately fond of my ass."

"Best ass I've ever seen, Sandburg. Bar none."

Neither man seemed to be concerned that Naomi was standing there, listening. Jim decided it was time for a little -- diversion.

"Stand up, Chief. Let me get a good look, maybe your body isn't so high up."

Blair stood obediently, if somewhat unsteadily. Jim had to catch him. Blair gave a little push again and stepped back, holding his arms out to his side and cocking his head. "Well? On a scale of one to ten?"

"I need more light, Chief. Come inside and let me get a proper look."

Blair's eyes widened and he grinned. "Uh, Jim? Sweetie, honey, you're a fucking Sentinel, remember?"

Jim had to laugh. Blair had _never_ called him 'sweetie', 'honey', or any other endearment. When he calmed down, he said conspiratorially, "Not for me, for your mother."

"She's seen my body, Jim. Like, ever since I was little, you know?"

Enough was enough. At this rate, Blair would have pneumonia. Jim wrapped him in his arms and headed for the warmth of indoors.

"JIM! NOT FAIR!"

"Come on, you're starting to look like a drowned rat."

He got him in and was steering him toward the bathroom and a hot shower when Blair dug in his heels and demanded, "Do you love my body, Jim?"

With the love and patience of a saint protecting the beloved drunks of the world, Jim nodded and said, "Yes, but there's so much more, Chief."

"Do you think I'm selfish, Jim?"

Now Ellison frowned. Selfish? Blair Sandburg? Where the fuck did this come from? "Blair, you are the least selfish person I know."

Sandburg shook his head, which immediately drenched Jim in rainwater. Wiping his face with his free hand, he continued to guide his Guide to the bathroom.

Blair stopped him again and rolled under Jim's arm to plaster himself against Jim's chest. He gazed up at the man, his eyes suddenly very sad. "You're going to leave me, Jim. Pretty soon too."

Jim brought both arms around the slender, wet form and hugged with all his might. "No, Blair, I'm never leaving you. Never."

The wet head nodded against Jim's shirt as Blair's muffled voice traveled up. "Yes, yes you will. Everyone does because I'm selfish and hard and I'm ruined." Then with the about-face characteristic of the seldom-drunk, he lifted his face and asked quizzically, "How long have you loved me?"

"Since before you were born."

Blair's eyes grew impossibly round as he said, "Aw, that was, like, so _nice_ , Jim." Then his voice got very businesslike, "But really, how long?"

"Blair, do we have to do this now?"

"How long?"

"From the moment you climbed that tree and took on the magpie. Okay?"

Blair pulled away, his expression crestfallen. "I was afraid of that." He moved away, walking erratically, waving his hands. "Now I _know_ you'll leave me. When you find out _that_ Blair is gone. I don't know where he went, but he's gone." Suddenly he whipped around and rushed frantically back to Jim. "I'll find him for you, okay? I swear, I can find him again. Maybe you can love him longer than me."

He did an abrupt 180 and headed for the door, still talking. "Yeah, yeah, that's what I'll do, I'll find him for you. If anyone could, it would be me, right? He was a good guy, wasn't he? Everyone liked him, I think." His hand was reaching for the door when Naomi spoke.

"Honey, don't leave. That Blair is right here."

*****

_Honey, don't leave, that Blair is right here._

Blair stopped on his way out the door to turn and look at his mother. "Naomi? Oh, hi."

"Hi, sweetie. Please don't go out, he's right here."

Blair gazed around him, frowning. "I don't think so, mom. He's long gone." Blair put his finger to his lips and whispered, "But shhh, I'm gonna find him for Jim, okay?"

Jim started toward the inebriated man, who immediately darted out into the hall. Jim quickly followed, Naomi on his heels. Blair took the stairs at a run, his wet hair flying behind him. Jim cursed his own size, wishing, just this once, that he was smaller. Blair had always been faster and while Jim was closing in with his length, Blair cleared the last step and was out the lobby door.

"Damn," Jim muttered as he pushed through the door, his hearing pinpointing Blair to his left. He turned and started running again, Naomi farther behind, but still following. "BLAIR! WAIT UP, BUDDY!"

Blair never even paused. He made a turn, heading for the park just south of the loft. Jim pulled out all the stops, worried that if Blair made it, he'd lose him in the dense tree coverage.

Fortunately, Blair stopped at the fringe, head turning left, then right. Jim caught up to him and gave a gentle tug on Blair's hair. "Hey, what's so interesting out here, uh? Let's go home, okay Chief?"

Absently shaking his head, eyes scanning the park, Blair said, "No, he's here, Jim. I'm certain. I can find him for you."

Carefully, Jim turned the younger man around and tilted his head up to face him. "Blair, he's right here, in my arms. There's no one to look for, no one else I need, just _this_ you. Do you understand?"

"I think you're wrong, Jim. That other Blair -- he was..."

"You. He was and is you. The only _you_ I want."

Blair's body, which up to that moment had been in some form of constant motion, now stilled. "But Paul said..."

"Fuck Paul. He's an asshole, a criminal and a major-league jerk, and he'll be lucky to be alive tomorrow. I may just have to show you all the ways I know of to kill a man, using Paul as my guinea pig."

"Can I watch?"

"Could I prove myself any other way? Of course you can watch. Now, can we go home?"

Blair gave Jim a negative motion of his head while saying, "Nuh-uh. I think I'm going to be sick."

"Well, for Pete's sake, don't barf on me."

"okay."

Blair turned, bent over and without further preamble, heaved his guts out. A second later he dropped to his knees and heaved some more. Naomi reached them at that moment and was about to rush to his side when Jim dropped down beside his lover and tenderly pulled Blair's hair away from his face. Naomi froze in place as she watched the big, tough Detective Ellison minister to her son. As Blair continued to empty his stomach, Jim held the hair back with one hand while his other arm held the slight body, his hand stroking Blair's right arm. She listened to Jim's soothing nonsense and felt tears threaten. "i've got you, don't worry, it's okay babe. get it all out, then we'll go home, take a nice hot shower, climb into bed and sleep all weekend."

Jim continued to stroke, soothe and murmur until Blair had nothing else to heave and he sat back trying to catch his breath. Jim pulled him against his large chest and Blair's head just naturally dropped back to Jim's shoulder as the older man pulled a handkerchief from his pocket.

Naomi reached for it, saying, "Here, let me take that. There's a drinking fountain just over there." She took it, wet it and brought it back. Jim wiped Blair's face and lips, then said, "Ready, Chief?"

"give me a minute," he rasped.

"Give you the world if I could."

"i'll settle for the minute and a good blowjob."

"Uh, Chief? Your mother is right behind us."

"oops."

"Big oops, Chief." Jim leaned his head down a bit and whispered something in Blair's ear, which brought a huge smile to the younger man's face.

"deal, man."

The two men stood, Jim's arm supporting most of Blair's weight. He was still swaying a bit, but they'd make it home just fine.

Naomi walked behind them, marveling at the love and devotion Ellison lavished on her son. How could she have so completely misjudged the man? But she knew the answer. In the future -- she simply needed to listen to her son.

So simple.

*****

They arrived home and Jim, without a backward glance at Naomi, led Blair into the bathroom, gently closing the door behind them. Naomi walked into the kitchen and put on coffee for Jim, and tea for hersewlf and Blair.

*****

Blair's head was bobbing in exhaustion by the time Jim got him seated on the toilet cover and started stripping him. He pulled off the sodden sweats and t-shirt, slipped the loafers from Blair's feet and tossed them all behind him, missing the hamper. Blair leaned forward and whispered, "bad jim. you've had too much to drink, you're drunk."

"One of us is, Chief, but my vote's on you."

"are you saying I can't hold my liquor?"

"Can you?"

Smiling crookedly, Blair slurred out, "Of course. It's _your_ liquor I can't hold."

"Ah, yes. Sentinel booze. Devastating."

"Yep." Blair punctuated the 'yep' with a very firm nod of his head, hair slapping Jim's face.

Ellison stood, got the shower ready, then got the inebriated man up and inside the stall. But Blair had other ideas. As Jim reached in to adjust the spray, Blair gave a remarkably strong yank and pulled Jim in with him.

"Remember? You're the one who's been drinking, Jim. You need a cold shower. Sober you up."

Before Jim could answer, Blair had pulled him down and with fierce abandon, began to kiss him. The water pounded down on them as Jim found himself thoroughly ravaged by a still-very-drunk Blair. It took him several minutes before he caught the desperation in Blair's actions. He pulled away, which was a big mistake. Blair looked up at him and that terrible sadness slid back into his eyes. His arms dropped listlessly to his sides as he hung his head down, wet hair falling forward.

"sorry," he mumbled.

"Stop this right now, Sandburg. You know damn well how I feel about you. Get that asshole out of your brain, you understand me?" The head tilted slightly, puzzled eyes peering out from under the slick, dark hair. Jim went on. "Paul Lopez was and is a jerk and you know it. Nothing he says should be listened to in any form. In fact, I'm thinking of using my impressive influence to make sure he never teaches again. With his background, it'd be a snap." Jim went on, his anger almost palpable. "Blair, you're the smartest man I know and I can't believe you'd let anything Lopez says affect you."

"You have influence?"

"Damn straight I do."

"And I thought the only influence you had was over the Crawford's cat. But come to think of it, he ignores you too."

"Blair..." Jim warned.

Blair held up his hands in surrender, saying, "I know, Jim. You're right. And honest, the Crawford's cat listens to you sometimes."

"Then repeat after me, 'I, Blair Sandburg'..."

"Should I raise my right hand?"

"No, your left leg."

"I'll fall."

"I'll catch you."

Blair smiled the most beatific smile Jim had ever seen, then raised his left leg. He swayed dangerously and Jim caught him and braced him.

"Go on, say it."

"I, Blair Sandburg,"

"Do hereby believe for all time..."

"Do hereby believe for all time... uh, Jim? How long would that be?"

"Just repeat it, Sandburg."

"I did, but how long is for all time?"

"If you weren't drunk, you'd know. Now, say this, 'That James Joseph Ellison loves me'...

"That James Joseph Ellison loves me. Hey, did I ever tell you how much I love your middle name? Anybody ever call you Joe?"

Jim's eyes narrowed as he said, "And James Joseph Ellison will always love me, even when I ask stupid questions."

"I didn't ask a stupid que-- mphmmnph."

Jim's hand clamped over Blair's mouth. "Just repeat after me, Sandburg." He removed the hand and of course, Blair did exactly what he was told.

"Just repeat after me, Sandburg."

"God dammit, Blair."

"God dammit, Blair."

Jim smiled innocently, then grabbed the slick, slippery man, held him fast as he stepped out of the shower and turned the water to cold.

"JIIIIIMMMMMM!"

Blair struggled, but it was useless against Jim's strength. The cold water hit him and he began to sputter and jerk.

"Say it, Blair. Say Uncle."

"you bastard."

"Say it."

"UNCLE, GOD DAMMIT."

"And James Joseph Ellison will always love me, even when I ask stupid questions."

"and james joseph ellison will always love me, even when i ask stupid questions."

"And Paul Lopez sucks eggs and couldn't find his brain or his ass if they were served up on a silver platter."

"and paul lopez sucks eggs and couldn't find his brain or his ass if they were served up on a silver platter."

Jim reached in and turned the water to warm. "Now, who loves you?"

"you do."

"How much?"

"can't be measured."

"Who do you love?"

"you, buzzard legs."

"How much?"

"enough to ignore the buzzard legs."

Jim let go and quickly divested himself of his wet clothes, leaving them in a puddle on the floor as he climbed in behind Blair. "Buzzard legs, indeed." He grabbed the soap and washcloth and, with infinite care, began to wash his lover. He started with Blair's neck, then down to his shoulders, out to his arms, all his fingers, then to his chest. He spent several minutes washing the soft chest hair, letting his fingers play in the sudsy mass before moving down to Blair's stomach and hips. He washed both Blair's legs, then back up, on the inside of Blair's thighs and finally the groin area. When he was done, he pulled Blair into his chest, coaxing Blair's arms around Jim's waist. With Blair's head resting against him, Jim started on his back. He washed across his shoulders, then dipped down to the sweet indentation just before the soft swell of Blair's rear. Jim heard and felt the small moan of pleasure as it was groaned against his chest and he smiled, letting the cloth slide between the firm cheeks, then out and around.

"love you, Blair," he whispered into one ear. "love you always."

"never stop," Blair said quietly.

"never will," Jim promised.

*****

The bathroom door finally opened and Jim came out with Blair. Both men were wrapped in their robes and Jim had a towel on Blair's head and was rubbing lightly. He moved them upstairs, unaware that Naomi was sitting at the kitchen table. She watched him guide an exhausted Blair up the steps, almost carrying him. She could hear Jim's soft, whispered words of love as they disappeared.

A few minutes later, Jim came back down and, with a start, acknowledged her. "He's asleep, Naomi. He'll be fine."

"I know. You'll take care of him." She stood and took her mug into the kitchen, rinsed it out and returned with a cup of coffee in her hands. She took Jim's hand, pressing the mug into it. He took it gratefully.

"Jim, I'm so sorry. Can you ever forgive me?"

He looked at her over his mug, surprised. "Naomi, I..."

"Please, Jim? I didn't -- know. Didn't have any idea. I've never had -- what you two have. Never seen it, Jim." Her voice shook as her eyes filled with tears. "God, you love him so much. I felt so... privileged to witness it tonight. And lucky, Jim." The tears were falling now as she continued, her voice breaking, "A mother dreams of such happiness for her child, but seldom sees it. I have. Thanks to you. Let me stay in his life? Share it with you?"

He was stunned. Naomi was asking _his_ permission to stay in her son's life. "Naomi, you're his mother, he loves you with all his heart. Neither of us would ever want you out of his life." And for the second time that night, Jim took Naomi into his arms to let her cry.

After several minutes, she pulled away, smiling slightly. "I'd better get out of here before I drown you."

"Stay here, it's too late to head to the Prescott. His old room is clean, the bed is still there. We haven't had the time to redecorate yet."

"No, I shouldn't."

"Please? He'll need you in the morning." Simple words, heartfelt plea.

"Thank you, Jim."

As Jim locked up and Naomi went into Blair's old room, she stopped, walked back out and as Jim was about to go upstairs, she said, "You two play nicely in the shower."

Jim nearly choked. The last thing he heard as he climbed to his room was her gentle laughter.

*****

Somewhere in a galaxy far, far away -- a door closed. A lump moved. Turned. Groaned. One sleepy blue eye peeked out from behind a blanket. Sunlight from the skylight hit the vulnerable orb, which immediately shut. The lump rolled onto its back, groaned again. But quietly.

Blankets were pushed down and slowly, carefully, Blair sat up. After a moment, when certain his head wouldn't fall off, or his eyes pop out, he opened them.

He was alive. Whole. Nothing was loose or threatening to come off. He swung his legs over the side of the bed and looked around him. No Jim. He frowned, checked the bedside clock. One-thirty. He listened. Heard the faint sound of paper rustling. Jim -- downstairs, reading the paper.

Blair searched the furniture, the floor -- no robe. He stood, held his position while the loft slowed down, then started downstairs.

At the bottom of the steps, he congratulated himself for his brave effort and listened as his stomach growled. Hungry, must have food. Only food could save him now -- and Jim.

He turned toward the kitchen and froze. Jim was _not_ behind the morning paper. Naomi was. She looked up and smiled. "Good morning, dear."

He managed to rasp out, "mom."

"Aren't you cold, honey?"

He shook his head, heard the bolts rattle. He walked into the kitchen and checked the cupboards. God, no food.

"Jim went to the store, dear. He said you'd be hungry when you got up."

"food. need food."

"I know sweetie. I remember the last time you drank too much. It was Juicy Fruit's wedding, remember? You were thirteen and kept stealing champagne from the trays, and when you got caught, you told the waiter the glasses were for me. Where did I finally find you?"

"inside the stereo."

Naomi nodded and said, "Ah, yes. I know you were small for your age, but I still don't have a clue how you got yourself in there."

"perseverance."

She heard the freezer open and swiveled in her seat to see Blair pull out a box of frozen fish. She quickly got up, walked over to him and took the box from his hand.

"Honey, these are _frozen_ fish sticks."

"gotta eat. now."

"But _not_ fish sticks."

He grabbed them away from her, opened the box and pulled out one stick. He looked at it for a minute, then bit down. The crunch reverberated through his brain and he thought his eyes would pop out after all. He was about to take another bite when Naomi pulled the stick away and tossed it down the drain. She took the fish and tossed them under the sink into the trash.

"Jim should be here any minute, he's bringing you food. Okay?"

Her son looked at her, his eyes watering slightly. Before he could say anything, the front door opened and Jim, arms full, walked in.

"Hey, Chief, you're up. I've got food. Muffins, bagels, lox, cream cheese with chives, a pineapple smoothie, those marinated green beans you love so much, some pickled artichokes and hardboiled eggs, some of that truffle mousse you love and a fresh-out-of-the oven loaf of French bread. Sit down and get ready to knock yourself out."

Blair pushed past his mother, hand reaching out as he said in a roughened voice, "beans, givemethebeans."

Jim's face altered radically as he actually looked at Blair who was advancing on him like some alien space monster. "Uh, Chief? You're naked."

The alien space monster froze, glanced down at himself and gaped.

"Jim, honey, I've seen my son naked before, and I'm certain you have as well. If he's comfortable, well..." She let her voice trail off.

Blair looked up. "jim?"

Quickly dumping the deli bags on the table, Jim stripped off his jacket and gently slipped it over Blair's arms, then turned him and zipped it up. "Better?"

Blair nodded as Jim led him to the table, sat him down and started pulling boxes and jars from the bags. He placed the container of marinated string beans and the smoothie in front of Blair, who immediately tore into the beans with fingers barely peeking out of the too-large sleeve. He grabbed the long, cool stalks and plopped them into his mouth. He chewed, slurped the smoothie, chewed some more.

The muffins, bagels, cream cheese and other assorted goodies soon appeared in front of the hungover man. Jim grabbed himself a blueberry muffin, handed a bagel to Naomi, pulled his chair around and sat down next to Blair to watch his normally human lover devour the food like the Hoover vacuum cleaner he'd become.

*****

Naomi nibbled at pieces of the bagel, watching in almost morbid fascination as the food rapidly disappeared, Blair's fingers dipping, scooping and shoving. She glanced at Jim and found him sitting complacently, occasionally dipping his fingers into something and feeding it to Blair, who munched contentedly.

"I see that you're acquainted with Blair's strange _hangover_ personality, Jim."

He grinned and nodded as he snuck his hand past Blair and grabbed one of the pickled eggs. "Yep. Found out about two years ago. Retirement party for one the guys in Robbery. Blair was trying so hard to _be_ one of us, he drank us all under the table. I gotta tell you, Naomi, I was so certain I was going to have one sick roommate the next morning."

"But instead, he ate you out of house and home."

"Oh, yeah. And the combinations? I'd swear to this day he was pregnant."

If Blair was listening to the exchange between his lover and his mother, he gave no indication as he swatted Jim's hand away as the older man tried to snag another egg.

"The first time I experienced it, he was thirteen." She noted Jim's rising eyebrow and scoffed, "Don't be silly, Jim. No, I wasn't encouraging him to drink. It was at a wedding..."

"Juicy Fruit's," Blair mumbled, since he appeared to be listening after all and knowing damn well Jim would love that name.

"Yes, Juicy's. Anyway, Blair kept sneaking glass after glass of champagne. The next morning, well, the hotel kitchen couldn't keep up with him, let me tell you."

Jim leaned forward, curiosity getting the better of him. "Juicy Fruit?"

Most of the food was finally gone and Blair sat back with a contented burp. With a devilish smile, he answered Jim's query. "Yes, Juicy Fruit. Her mom and dad were hooked on the gum. She always thought it was infinitely better than Silver-Sparkly-Things, which _was_ going to be her name. She was also glad they didn't love Beaman's or Wrigley's Spearmint."

"Ah," was all that Jim could say as he shook his head in humor. He stood and began the cleanup process. When he was done, he sat back down and took Blair's hand. "You remember much of last night after your introduction to my Chivas Regal?" Blair's flushed skin was Jim's only required answer. "Do I need to do a repeat performance of the _'Jim loves Blair'_ oath of allegiance?" Blair shook his head. "Good."

"And you _do_ know, I mean, you're not worried about me and..."

"Paul? No, Chief, I'm not. You have _much_ better taste than that. Look who you're with now."

Blair grinned and concurred. "I do have excellent taste, don't I?"

Jim leaned in and dropped a chaste kiss on the champagne-vinegar-and-oil-smeared lips, then smacked his and said, "You _do_ taste good, Sandburg."

"Um, boys? May I remind you, you're not alone?"

Both men looked over at her, eyes wide and innocent. "Why, Naomi, whatever do you mean?" Jim asked.

His reward was a movement of her hand in the air, mimicking a slap on the side of the head.

Blair watched the exchange, puzzled. "You two seem -- okay."

"We are, I think. Aren't we, Jim?"

"We most definitely are. We came to an understanding last night, Chief. Nothing to worry about."

"Right." He then looked from one to the other and back to Jim. He seemed happy with what he saw. Then his face clouded over.

"Uh, Jim? Last night, you said something about Paul being a criminal. Did I imagine that?"

"No, Chief, you didn't. I, um, did a little checking..."

" _We_ did a little checking, Jim. I was there too and just as guilty."

Blair gazed from one to the other, suspicion growing. "What exactly did you two do?"

"Now Blair, don't get angry with Jim, he was just, well, he was..."

"Jealous as hell, Chief. And worried sick. I didn't trust that scumbag so I checked him out. Sue me."

The frown on Blair's face grew as his hand slid from Jim's. "What did you find out?" he asked quietly.

"He turned state's evidence, Chief. Giving him a new identity via a faked death was part of the bargain. That's what tipped me off, the faked death. Hardly SOP."

"state's evidence," Blair repeated, stunned.

Jim gave a solemn nod as Naomi scooted her chair closer to her son.

"He was smuggling for Benning. Apparently he'd taken several trips to South America..."

"yeah, research for his books -- he _said_."

"And he smuggled drugs back into the States. The DEA tracked him down and offered him a deal, Blair. It's doubtful they could have closed down Benning's operation any other way."

"how did you get all this information? it couldn't have been easy."

"Simon and I called in a few markers."

"SIMON KNOWS?" Blair yelled in panic.

Jim grabbed one flying hand and held it fast. "Calm down, I didn't give him anything, just said I needed to check on this guy. Simon doesn't even question anymore."

Blair calmed down, his body once again relaxing -- until he noticed his mother's face. "What? What else?" he asked, worried.

"The DEA thoroughly investigated you at the time, Blair. Without your knowledge. Obviously you were cleared. But -- well, why didn't you go on that first Stoddard expedition?"

Blair knew better than to question Jim, so he simply answered him. "I was all set to, in fact, Paul was kind of excited. But then, he suddenly changed his mind, started giving me all this grief about my age, and how dangerous it would be and making me feel... well, anyway, I backed down and that was that." Blair waited for Jim to explain.

"I'm sure he _was_ excited; you were about to become a major carrier. But that's when the DEA contacted Lopez, and suddenly everything hinged on you _not_ going with Stoddard. His bargain with the DEA, their trap for Benning, all of it."

Blair closed his eyes and sighed. God, what a fool he'd been. And now -- Jim knew it too. Jesus. And no matter what Jim said, Simon knew enough now as well.

With his eyes still closed, he asked, "How is it that just Benning's death freed Paul to regain his own identity?"

"The Stigler Family took over all of Benning's connections. They just absorbed it. Benning has no family left, no one that cares about a deal one man made. In fact, the Stigler Family couldn't have been more pleased."

Blair swiped a hand over his face, digging his fingers into his eyes and rubbing hard.

"Honey? You gonna be okay about this?"

"I'm fine, mom. Just fine."

"If it helps, I've learned my lesson. I trust you, Blair and love you and I'm so grateful you've found happiness with Jim."

His hands dropped from his face and turned tired, red-rimmed eyes to his mother. "So, you're saying you're not going to bring out any more old boyfriends or girlfriends?"

She made an X over her heart and with a smile, said, "I swear. Cross my heart, honey."

"Just how many old boyfriends or girlfriends are we talking about here, Chief?"

With a dagger-sharp look aimed in his lover's direction, Blair said smartly, "Not as many as _you_ seem to have, Jim _dear_."

Jim made like an arrow had pierced his heart by clutching his chest and moaning. "Argh, direct hit, Chief."

"Gee, Jim," Blair said sweetly, "Dial it down."

"Twerp."

"Bigger twerp."

"Oooh, that was a great comeback, Chief. Goes in my book of _Great Comebacks_."

"You are a flea on the back of a slug, Jim, but you're my flea on the back of a slug. If you all will excuse me, my butt is getting cold. I'm going upstairs to change."

Blair pushed back the chair, stood and headed for the stairs. As he arrived at the bottom step, he said, "Mom, close your eyes." With a smile, Naomi did as she was instructed and Blair turned, lifted Jim's jacket and mooned the older man, then gave a small, seductive wiggle and shot up the stairs.

"Uh, Naomi? Excuse me, but I have a partner to beat up."

"Go right ahead. You have my blessing."

Jim grinned and shot up the stairs after his mostly-naked partner.

Naomi stood and carried her teacup into the kitchen. She really should head back to the hotel. She leaned against the sink, hearing the bed upstairs creak as if it had suddenly experienced the weight of two men on it... Oh, yes, she should really leave.

Smiling, she remained where she was.

*****

Jim caught his lover halfway to the bed and their momentum carried their bodies the rest of the way. They landed with a soft whoosh, Jim on top and fingers already looking for the ticklish spots.

"no, no, Jim... ah, come on, man..." but fingers continued their relentless 'seek-and-destroy-through-tickling' mission. Blair started to wiggle, laugh, and then plead for mercy. Somehow, those fingers found their way to Blair's backside as Jim settled his body even closer to Blair's. The laughter stopped as passion quickly replaced it.

"jeesh, mom is downstairs," he whispered and then promptly groaned as Jim invaded his ass with his finger.

"now there's something i never thought i'd hear you say while we were having sex."

"ah, uh, god, um... shit, jiiiim, oh, yes..." was Blair's only reply. Jim chuckled just before his mouth clamped down on Blair's.

The kiss was long and deep, with none of the desperation of the previous night. Blair might not be completely out of the woods yet, but he was well on his way and Jim was going to make damn sure he made it.

Jim's jacket had been pulled from Blair's body, followed by Blair attacking Jim's shirt, pulling it open; and as Jim continued with his attention to Blair's ass and mouth, Blair's hands moved down to Jim's zipper, quickly freeing his cock. The hands then moved up to cover the expansive chest, teasing, pinching and loving. Bodies moved together easily, cocks now sliding and bumping, providing all the stimulation they needed. Their lovemaking was urgent and healing, an extension of the night before, providing the ultimate re-connection.

*****

"I should move."

"um."

"Your mother is still downstairs. She'd probably like to get to the hotel and change."

"prob'ly."

"So I should move."

"um."

Jim gave a little lurch, trying not very hard to dislodge the body spread out over him. "I really should move."

With a soft groan, Blair lifted himself up on both hands and stared down at Jim. "You sure you want to move?"

"I should."

"But -- do you want to?"

"Your mom."

He let his body flop over and away from Jim. "Okay, but you're a mess."

Jim pulled himself off the bed and glanced down. Blair was right, he was a mess. "Good thing we have baby wipes."

Several minutes later he was downstairs, his face unusually flushed as he found Naomi staring at him with a quirky half smile.

"Well, yes. Um, I've chastised your son for his..."

"Cheeky behavior?"

"MOM, you PEEKED," came the yell from upstairs.

Ignoring him, she smiled up at Jim and said, "I should be getting back to the hotel, to change... and I was thinking, maybe you two would join me later, for dinner? I'd like to -- talk with Blair, maybe."

Jim realized she was asking his permission. "That would be nice. The Prescott Room has wonderful food. You came with Lopez?" At her nod, he grabbed his keys. "Let's go."

"I can catch a cab, Jim."

"I'll drive you, Naomi. I want to." He glanced up at the bedroom and said, "Blair? I'm taking your mother back to the hotel, okay?"

A head peeked over the edge, hair falling over Blair's face. "Gotcha, Jim. Drive carefully."

"How do you feel about dinner at The Prescott Room?"

Blair smiled at his mother and nodded. "Great idea."

"All right then. Be back in a few." Jim guided Naomi out the front door and as it closed, Blair smiled. Maybe everything would be all right after all.

He took a quick shower, dried his hair then changed into jeans and his Cascade PD t-shirt.

Blair wandered into the kitchen, noticed the overflowing garbage and decided to do his good deed for the day. He emptied the trash under the sink -- along with leftover deli carnage -- into a trash bag, closed it and headed out the front door.

And straight into Paul Lopez.

Blair was so surprised, he actually stepped back and away from his ex-lover. Paul smiled almost shyly, ducking his head a bit and saying, "I'm as surprised as you, Blair, that I'm here. May I come in?"

Recovering, Blair answered, "I don't think there's anything left for us to say, do you?"

"On the contrary, considering that I said everything wrong last night. Please, let me just clear the air?"

Swallowing his suspicions, Blair let the man in. He set the garbage down, crossed his arms and waited.

"We could sit down, maybe?"

Blair didn't move. Paul's eyes fastened on Blair's face, lingered.

"Blair, I was -- hurt last night. You need to understand, your mother led me to believe that there was a hope, I mean..." He paused and started over. "You were the only thing that kept me going all these years. The idea that someday, somehow, I'd be able to return to you. My memories of us, of _you_ , they were all I had. And then I arrived here and you were with -- Detective Ellison and all my dreams collapsed. I struck back the only way I knew how and for that, I'm truly sorry."

Without moving, Blair said quietly, "Did they let you keep the money? I'd think that the hundreds of thousands of dollars you made from Benning would keep you quite warm at night, memories or no memories." At Paul's shocked expression, Blair went on. "Jesus, Paul, Jim's a fucking _detective_. You think he wouldn't check you out? You threatened something that belonged to him."

Paul caught the phrase and started to jump on it, but Blair held up one hand. "Yes, you heard me correctly; I said _belonged to him_. But unlike with you, it was never demanded or manipulated -- it was given. It's a choice, Paul. _My_ choice. I belong to him and guess what? He belongs to me. That's how a _real_ relationship works. Two people _choosing_. And Paul? I doubt that you gave me a single thought over the years." Blair indicated the door and finished with, "Jim will be back soon and this discussion is over."

Paul's mind was racing as he absorbed this new information. Blair knew the truth, okay. But he didn't know all of it. Paul _had_ thought about Blair -- constantly. He'd berated himself for not forcing Blair to accompany him. But that was then, and right now, all he wanted was to get past those newly-forged defenses of Blair's and make him understand that he _didn't_ belong to that Neanderthal detective, but to him.

He let his body slump a bit and dropped his eyes to the floor. "Blair, I'm not going to lie to you. I _was_ a courier for Benning, but I had no choice. Please believe that. He threatened my family and you. Do you honestly think the DEA would have gone through all that they did, would have gone to the expense of faking my death? They _had_ to protect my family, that was part of the bargain. If I'd just disappeared, Benning would have gone after Michael and Doreen. And you. I had no choice. I swear it."

Blair found himself sucked in by Paul's plea. It all actually made sense and there was no doubt in Blair's mind how Paul felt about his brother. He would have done anything to protect him.

"Fine, I believe you. But that doesn't change anything. I'm still with Jim. You'd better go."

Paul stretched his hands out in supplication. "Please, give me a chance. I can be everything you ever wanted. I have this new life, Blair, but one thing is missing. You."

"As you so kindly pointed out, I'm not the same person, Paul. I'm nothing you'd want."

"That was hurt and anger talking, Blair. I told you that. Yes, you've changed, matured, but twelve years does that to a person. But god, you're still the same, deep down. There was so much beauty in you and I can see it still, but it's buried deep. You don't let it shine through anymore. I can bring it back. We could travel, see the world, share the wonders." He paused, lowered his voice and let his urgency and desire show. "Give me a chance."

Jesus, even trying to woo, the man could hurt.

Blair reached behind him and opened the door. "I don't know how many different ways to say this, Paul, but -- no." He stepped aside, making clear that his intent was that Paul should leave. A strange expression came over the older man as he gazed at the open door. Slowly, his head turned and cold brown eyes stared at Blair.

"So it doesn't matter what I went through?" He walked to the door, his eyes never leaving Blair's face. "What I suffered?"

Blair completely missed the darkness in Paul's eyes as he answered, "No."

Paul was fast, his hand shooting out, grabbing the door and slamming it shut. His eyes blazed as that same hand now reached for Blair. Fingers managed to connect with the tee-shirt, to yank hard and successfully pull the body toward him. "I told you once that you belonged to me; I meant it then and I mean it now."

Blair's surprise quickly turned to anger. His arm swung up and under Paul's, striking the man's forearm and dislodging it from his shirt. He heard the ripping of the material but ignored it. "You are one sick sonofabitch, Lopez. Maybe you missed the part about my new career? Jim Ellison isn't the only detective in this household. Now, unless you'd like to spend this weekend in jail, I suggest you leave before my new, hard and cold nature reasserts itself, and I kick your butt down three flights of stairs."

Lopez's eyes narrowed at the steel behind Blair's words. He gauged the man's seriousness, then compared their physical differences. He was certainly the taller, and heavier as well. He worked out daily, but he couldn't deny the difference in years.

"Violence isn't my way, Blair. I prefer talking." He let his body turn slightly, as if to leave, and smiled inwardly as Blair moved forward. Again, with amazing speed, his left arm swung back as he delivered a heavy blow that connected with Blair's jaw. Blair never saw it coming, but he should have.

The blow struck him hard and as his head snapped sharply to the left, Paul moved in. Grabbing the torn shirt, he heaved Blair up and slammed him against the wall, Blair's head barely missing the pegs of the coat tree. The small table collapsed, the key basket sliding off and landing on the floor. Paul stepped in close, the basket smashing underfoot. Sticking his face into Blair's, he hissed, "Well, my suffering mattered to me, Blair. I used to dream about you, you know."

Blair stayed quiet and bided his time as Paul went on. The older man's breath blew into his face, spittle landing on his chin. Paul's groin smashed into his and Blair had to suppress his desire to act immediately, thus giving up his advantage.

"If you knew half the things I wanted to do to you, Blair. But I went slow, stayed patient. I played you like a violin, thinking I had plenty of time. But I'm fresh out of patience now. Years of living like some rat in a dank hole can do that to a man."

Paul's tongue flicked out and licked across Blair's lower lip. "I really did intend to look you up, and no, the press conference didn't turn me off. In fact, it gave me hope. Hope that the innocent was dead, that my fantasies could finally come to fruition." His gaze stayed on Blair's lips as he moved in again, their lips almost touching...

Blair made his move. He slid his head sideways, forcing Paul's body to fall in and as it did, Blair's hand dropped down from the shoulder he'd been hanging onto and as he twisted right, he swung. His fist connected with Paul's chin in a damn fine uppercut. The man swayed, stumbled back and Blair moved out of reach. He glanced down at the crumbled basket and the sight of the rare item, destroyed, set him off.

"Damn you, that basket meant a great deal to me." He stood in front of Lopez, his chest heaving, the tee-shirt hanging in tatters, hair going in twenty different directions, his eyes glittering dangerously. "You bastard. You managed to avoid jail time twelve years ago, but I think I can arrange for you to have a second opportunity at this once-in-a-lifetime offer. How does assaulting a police officer sound?"

Nursing his mouth, which was bleeding, Paul snarled out, "Isn't that a little like calling the kettle black? There's only one _bastard_ in this room, and we both know who that is."

The only sign that Paul had scored a bull's-eye was the slight twitch of a nerve in Blair's jaw. He reached behind him to the holster hanging under his jacket. He slipped the gun out and in one deft move, had the barrel pointed at Paul's left eye.

"Let me see -- how did this go down? Oh, yeah. Paul Lopez broke into my home, threatened me, assaulted me and as we struggled, I managed to get to my gun. He jumped me and I had no choice, I had to fire." Blair took two threatening steps closer, the gun never wavering. "How does that sound, Paul? Because it sounds good to me, I gotta tell ya.

"You manipulated me, abused me emotionally and now this. You should know -- I'm _very_ angry and to top it off, you destroyed my special basket. That was given to me by the Machi-guenga Indians of Peru after I fought the river demon in the Pongo de Mainique. I swam the Urubamba River, braving the turbulent waters to save the chief's son. _AND_ you tore my Cascade PD shirt."

*****

"Jim, I'm so sorry about this. I can't believe I forgot it."

"It's no problem, Naomi."

They'd almost made it to the hotel when Naomi realized she'd left her purse back at the loft. Jim had pulled a U-turn even as she was trying to convince him that she could get it later. He'd just smiled as he cut across three lanes of traffic to make the left onto Prospect.

"I'm an idiot. I'm an idiot _and_ a bad mother."

"Hey, Blair turned out pretty good for having a bad mother, Naomi. You obviously did something right, don't you think? And the love you gave him was never in question."

"So, I was a foolish mother."

"That I can buy into."

She gazed at his smiling profile and grinned in return. "You don't have to be so obliging, you know."

"Yeah, that's what Blair always says too."

She stared out the front windshield and marveled at all that her son had become.

"You know, Jim, I think what I forgot was that it's our trials that make us strong. He went through so much and I forgot that he was learning on the way, making decisions and growing strong. He's his own person."

"That was the first thing I learned about him, Naomi. I could bluff, rant and rave, flex my muscles, threaten and he'd just re-route himself and attack from another direction. He is _definitely_ his own man."

"You know, some mothers would rule out grandchildren at this point. But I'm not most mothers."

Distracted for a moment, Jim nearly missed seeing the red light, slammed on the brakes just in time, almost colliding with the car in front of them. He turned to her, panic in his eyes. "WHAT?" Then he saw the devilish smile so like her son's. "Jeesh, Naomi."

"Of course, many gay couples adopt." She turned to face him, her face alight with mischief. "What do you think, Jim? Think you and Blair might make me a grandmother? Soon?"

The light went green and, shaking his head in wonder, he stepped on the accelerator. "Naomi, you'll be the death of me yet."

"No dear, that would be Blair." She waited a beat, then added, "If you know what I mean?"

Jim was saved by a response by the fact that they'd arrived in front of his building and he was grateful that Naomi couldn't see the flush spreading over his face. And who could explain that? Shit, he was forty years old, had seen stuff that would curl the tail of a horse, and he was blushing at a remark of Naomi's. Go figure.

"Jim, that's Paul's car."

He gave a quick look and spotted the Jeep Land Rover parked next to Blair's Volvo. "You sure?"

"I rode in it. I'm sure."

"Shit." With economy of movement, he and Naomi were out of the truck and running inside, both suddenly worried.

As Jim ran inside, he concentrated his hearing... and sped up. The sound of flesh hitting flesh urged him to take the steps three at a time. He bounded up to the third floor landing, turned sharply and in one amazingly quick move, had the door open and his gun pulled.

The sight that greeted him froze him in place, his mouth dropping open. "Blair?"

His partner stood a few feet in front of Paul Lopez, his arm outstretched and, in his hand, his police revolver. Lopez was bleeding from a cut on his lip, blood dripping down his chin, over his fingers and onto the wood floor. His left hand was up in surrender.

"Blair, what's going on here?"

"Jim, get out of here. I don't want you involved."

Jim's stomach churned, his world careening impossibly out of order. Could Blair, _his_ Blair, really be driven to this? But just as he thought he'd throw up, he noticed Blair's left hand, behind his back, fingers wiggling.

Well, he'd be damned. Okay, he could go with this... get a little of his own back.

Moving in cautiously and dropping his voice into his 'soothing cop timbre', he said, "Blair, honey, this isn't the way. Now put down the gun. You don't want to do this."

Blair stepped closer to Paul. "Oh, yes I do, Jim. I _need_ to do this. Now get out of here. I've got it all planned. Just close the door and pretend you never saw any of this. Please."

Blair's voice held just the right amount of edginess and pleading. Jim had the outrageous urge to say, 'And the envelope please'. He heard Naomi come up behind him and, hoping that she was quick on the uptake, he gave her the same signal Blair had given him.

She stopped at his shoulder, gasping at the sight of her son holding a gun. "Honey? It's me, your mother. Please, listen to Jim. Don't try anything foolish."

Blair's voice lowered dangerously as he said, "Jim, get her out of here -- NOW."

Jim took another slow step in, his shoe crunching something underfoot. He glanced down and spotted the remains of the key basket.

"Ah, shit, Sandburg, the basket, our basket is wrecked. That does it, Blair." He pulled his gun and leveled it on Lopez. "Fuck this. This bastard is going down."

"You think the basket is bad? Wait until you see what he did to my face, Jim," Blair whined piteously.

"Sandburg, he's going down, but not this way. You're a rookie; IA will tear you apart. You have to let me handle this. You understand? They'll believe me, a seasoned veteran and Detective of the Year two years running. Let me take care of this."

"How, Jim, how?"

Jim came alongside his partner, his gaze never leaving Lopez' pale face. "Look, you take your mother out of here and let me take care of him. We won't have anything to explain. Paul Lopez is going to disappear."

Both men noted with satisfaction that Lopez had started to shake -- badly. But for Blair, it wasn't enough. "How you gonna do it, Jim? I need to know."

"A bullet to the back of his head, execution style."

Blair turned to Jim, and waving his gun in front of his face, he said, "Jim, look at this, this is what he did to my face."

Jim didn't have to fake his anger at that moment, not while looking at Blair's bruised and swollen face. "YOU BASTARD! -- Aw, sweetie," Jim continued, talking to Blair, "I'll make him pay, I swear it. A bullet is too good for him, too easy. Now take your mother and go."

A strong smell erupted at that moment. Blair glanced down at Lopez' slacks, where a dark stain was spreading out. Smiling, Blair lowered his gun and tucked it in the back of his waistband. Voice returning to normal, he said, "Oh, that won't be necessary now, Jim. I think we've done enough."

Jim grinned as he holstered his gun, then glanced back at Lopez. "Maybe this was enough for you, but not for me." He stepped in and slugged Lopez, who dropped like a stone.

Naomi came up behind the two men as they gazed down at the prone figure. In her hand was the bag of trash. Peeking from between their shoulders, she said, "Here's the rest of the trash, honey. Need any help getting all of it downstairs?"

Blair's hand reached behind Jim's back and pulled the cuffs from their clip on the older detective's belt as he answered his mother. "No, mom, I don't think so." He bent, flipped Lopez over easily, pulled the man's arms behind him and said, "Paul Lopez, you're under arrest for assaulting a police officer, you have the right to remain silent..."

 

> //Caveat: I am assuming that Jim never goes anywhere without his gun or his cuffs. I know several policemen and they all have this policy, even when off duty.//

*****

The loft was finally quiet as Blair sank gratefully down into the softness of the couch. He put his feet up on the coffee table and waited for Jim's indignant yell. He got a bag of frozen asparagus instead. "Here, put this on your jaw. You look like a chipmunk."

"Alvin or Theodore?"

"You have to ask?" Jim plopped down beside his partner, their knees touching. He placed the palm of his hand against the cold bag, relieving Blair's. Looking at Blair's tired face, he said, "We were rotten, you know that, don't you?"

"Yeah, but it felt good."

"Felt fucking fantastic. Simon was suspicious though. I think he believed Lopez."

"Ya think?"

Two sets of blue eyes connected and both men smiled. "God, we were awful. I can't believe we did that."

"Yeah, two upstanding cops like us. Imagine."

"Um. You should never have made that diaper comment though. That was _way_ below the belt, man."

Jim gave Blair a sharp look, his eyes narrowing in suspicion. He caught the mirth swimming behind the red-rimmed eyes. "You stinker."

"Uh, no, Jim. _That_ would be Paul Lopez. I really didn't envy the uniforms who had to transport him. Messing their car and all."

"Hey, _I'm_ the one who had to clean the floor."

Their laughter, even if somewhat hysterical, could no longer be contained. It filled the loft as the two men erupted.

"Oh, man, that hurts," Blair complained in between bursts of renewed giggles. He let the bag drop from his face as he tried to stop the rumbling noise that kept exploding from his mouth. The laughter went on until tears streamed down their faces. They held on to each other as their bodies rocked in helpless mirth. Blair managed to point at Jim and between choked-back guffaws, said, "God, that anger when you saw the basket, and that honey remark!"

"Me? What about you? Telling me to get your mother out?"

Their laughter increased, the tensions of the last two days melting away in the healing sounds of humor.

"I thought the _piéce de resistance_ was your mother." Jim then launched into a perfect imitation of Naomi, "Honey, here's the rest of the trash..." and Blair took over with, "Do you need any help taking it downstairs?"

That started the giggles up again and they convulsed even harder, once again falling into each other's arms for support.

Blair started hiccupping and Jim turned him around in his arms and began a gentle circular motion on the younger man's back, his own laughter quieting.

"Oh, god, _hiccup_ Jim."

"Shh, catch your breath."

"Too _hiccup_ funny, too _hiccup_ surreal."

"Come on, take deep breaths. You know you need to fill those pockets in your lungs."

Blair did as he was told, but it was no use, especially with Jim trying to soothe him. But Jim's next words took care of the hiccupping. "You want to tell me now what happened?"

His breathing slowed and he gently pulled away from Jim's arms. "You have it all, Jim."

"Man, you are getting good at fooling this old Sentinel. But I'm still a detective, so spill."

"Nothing happened. He got angry, took a swing at me, connected, then slammed me against the wall." Blair missed the sudden pallor of Jim's skin as he continued. "I hit him, pulled my gun, we tried out for the Screen Actors Guild, and end of story."

"Bullshit, Sandburg. What -- happened?"

"Have I ever told you how much I hate it when you call me Sandburg? It's like when Naomi had a beef with me. _'Blair Sandburg, you get in here right this minute'._ Only I'm not a kid, Jim."

Jim wasn't put off one bit. "Tell. Me. What. Happened."

"Fine. I asked him to elope with me, he turned me down, said he'd come back for you. Happy now?"

"You shit. What's so difficult about telling me what happened? You're a cop, I'm a cop. What are you afraid of?"

Blair got up and took the bag of asparagus back into the kitchen. He grabbed a beer, twisted the top off and took a good swig. Swallowing, he said quietly, "I'm not afraid, Jim. I just don't see any reason to bore you with the trivial details, okay?"

Jim watched the casual air with which Blair leaned against the sink, legs crossed at the ankles, one elbow on the edge of the sink, the beer in his hand. His hearing couldn't detect any nervousness, nor could his sense of smell. He was too far away for touch or taste. But he had his sight. He noted just how tightly Blair was holding onto the beer, how clouded his eyes were, and how tight his lips were. Minute details, missed by anyone else. He joined Blair, taking a stance in front of him, reaching out and removing the bottle from Blair's hand, taking his own swig, then placing it back into the sweaty palm.

"You are afraid. I know he must have made some sort of pass, got physical with you, tried to force something. Do you see me rushing down to kill him? No. I'm paying someone to do that for me. No more jail for me, buddy. Now, what are you afraid of?"

"I know you know all that. So? Why do you need the details? We both know what happened here. It's over, he's in jail."

"Jesus, you're stubborn. Tell me."

That seemed to be the breaking point as the bottle of beer was slammed down hard enough to break in Blair's hand. He ignored the glass, the cut on his palm and the bleeding. He pushed past Jim and started out the door, but halfway, he stopped. His head was down as he tried to regain control.

"I can only be so much of a fool, Jim. I don't want to advertise it any more than I have to. Let it go."

The restraint in Blair's voice was admirable, but it didn't fool Jim. He _heard_ the pain. Months ago, he wouldn't have. But now, the whispered emotions that so often accompanied Blair's words were easy for the Sentinel to decipher. He took a small kitchen towel, walked up behind him, put his arms around the tight muscular body, took the injured hand and as he wrapped the towel around it, said, "You weren't a fool, Chief. Not then and not now. You're a kind man, a good man and that sometimes makes it easy for people to take advantage. But you're ready for them now and you've learned to give as good as you get."

Blair squirmed a bit and tilted his head to the side and back to see Jim's face. "What aren't you saying, Jim?"

Jim buried his face in Blair's hair and sighed. Blair had _always_ been able to _hear_ the whispered emotions in Jim.

"he slammed you into the wall."

"Aw, Jesus, Jim. Not like you, never like you. You can't compare this to you."

"I did it. How am I so different from him? God, Chief."

Blair turned in Jim's arms and careful of his hand, he said, "Jim, there's a big difference between a man using his size and strength against another when he's doing it for power, versus pain and hurt. You were in pain both times and yet, you used extreme caution with me. Do you understand?"

Jim shook his head, certain that Blair was wrong.

"When we first met, you _lifted_ and _moved_ me to the wall. Your senses were going crazy, you thought _you_ were going crazy, and still, you _lifted_ me. You didn't even knock anything over, Jim. And the second time? No slamming, just that _moving_ again. Subconsciously, you knew not to hurt me.

"Jesus, Jim, we've _both_ hurt each other with words, but always straight out, no subterfuge, no manipulations, just immediate feelings. There is no correlation between what Paul Lopez managed to do to a stupid eighteen-year-old and the relationship between you and me. None."

"You weren't stupid, Chief. You were vulnerable. Now, let's go take care of that hand, okay?"

*****

They were getting ready to meet Naomi at The Prescott when Jim heard Simon muttering as he approached their door, something about 'god damned elevators' and why was it that even on a weekend, the Ellison/Sandburg home had to be a turnstile for criminals? Smiling, Ellison swung open the door just as Banks was about to knock. "You rang, sir?"

Chomping down on his unlit cigar, the bigger man growled out, "No, but just once, I'd very much like to."

"You could go out and try again. I'll wait until you ring, okay?"

"Wiseass. Where's Sandburg?"

"Right here, Simon."

Banks glanced up to see Sandburg descending the stairs as he pulled on a dark blue sports jacket. His hair was tied back and as he fidgeted with his tie, Simon noticed the bandaged hand. "That happen when Lopez _assaulted_ you, Sandburg?"

Blair frowned at Simon's tone as he continued down. He self-consciously fingered the bandaged hand and shook his head. "No, it was an angry beer bottle."

Jim hadn't liked Simon's tone either and decided to challenge it. "Simon, Lopez _did_ assault him."

"That's not what he says. He's added a few details to your report. He now states that you, Jim, got jealous and hauled off and hit him. He wants to file charges."

"Jim never touched him, Simon. He arrived _after_ the fact. Ask Naomi."

"More to the point, it sounds as if you believe Lopez."

Simon shrugged. "I can see it. Considering what else the man told me."

Blair was shaken to his core. He'd never considered that Paul might tell anyone -- crap.

"Simon, I don't know what Lopez said, but I do know that everything didn't go into my report. But I can fix that if it will help Jim."

Simon noticed Jim stiffening and he gazed from one man to the other. Jim's face was tight, his lips in a straight line, and no one could miss the beads of sweat on Blair's face or the way he was avoiding Jim's gaze.

"Okay, what's going on here?"

Jim moved so that his body was now between Simon and Blair. It was a move Simon had seen many times in the last three years, but never used against him. "Nothing is going on, Simon. Lopez is a liar and if you choose to believe him, well, you know where the door is. Knock yourself out."

Blair thought the whole situation was disintegrating and he could see Jim and Simon's friendship going down the tubes -- because of him. He gently moved Jim aside and faced his boss. "Look, Simon, Paul Lopez and I go back to my early days at Rainier. We were -- lovers. I didn't feel that I should have to explain my relationship with him to you, it's really none of your business. But, well, we were together when he did the whole drug shtick and you know I wasn't involved or maybe you don't believe that either. Anyway, he showed up tonight, tried to con me and when that didn't work, he got -- physical." Until that moment, Blair had been looking Simon straight in the eye, but at the word _physical_ , his gaze dropped to the ground, unable to meet Simon's eyes.

"I took him out and that's when Jim and my mother showed up. I was -- very unprofessional and I let my anger get the best of me. I'll understand any discipline you feel is necessary but Jim had nothing to do with it. This is _my_ problem and mine alone."

Over the years, Simon Banks had become very proficient in reading between the Blairspeak lines and he was a master at deciphering Jim Ellison's body language. It was time to take these two men off the hook.

"No one believes Lopez, Blair. I doubt his complaint will go anywhere. Not with the additional information my inquiries turned up. But you're wrong about this not being my business. It is my business. It's police related, you're one of my men, and dammit, you're a friend. A good friend."

Blair's head shot up at that, his eyes wide. But Jim had caught the 'additional information' remark and he jumped on it.

"Simon, what additional information?"

"Once a drug smuggler, now a drug dealer. When I called in my markers with John Spencer over at the DEA, it kindled some interest. I received a call about an hour ago. Seems that Mr. Lopez, teacher extraordinaire, is now teaching more than history to his pupils. Your assault charge, Blair, is a drop in the bucket compared to what he's about to be hit with. Search warrants have dug up the contraband, even disks with a complete list of his connections. Wyioki is about to get the surprise of a lifetime."

Blair's knees decided to take a brief holiday, and he barely made it to the couch. He dropped down, ignoring the concerned looks and promptly put his feet on the coffee table, more to brace himself than anything else. Too much, all too much. He smiled at himself and the farce this had all become.

Worried, Jim walked to the couch and moving Blair's legs, he sat down on the table, facing Blair. "Simon, any chance he can slip out of this? Make another deal or something?"

"No. He's going away for quite awhile."

Jim noticed Blair's Cheshire grin. "Buddy? What are you thinking?"

"Karma, Jim. Karma. What goes around, comes around, you reap what you sow, you get what you deserve, the mighty will fall." He looked up and added, "You need any more clichés?"

"No, Chief, I think I get it. I like this karma thing of yours."

Blair looked up at Simon who was now standing next to Jim. "Hey, Simon, you doing anything for dinner tonight? I _know_ how much you enjoy my mother's company."

"Uh, actually, Sandburg, well..." he paused, suddenly embarrassed. "Actually, I _do_ enjoy her company."

He didn't have a clue as to why Jim and Blair were suddenly convulsed in laughter.

*****

The dinner had been great, the food excellent, the conversation -- unique.

Jim found himself watching and listening rather than talking as Naomi and Blair regaled him and Simon with tales from their travels. In two short hours, with Naomi encouraging her son, Jim learned more about his partner than he had in three years. And as for Simon, he was kept in a constant state of laughter and disbelief as their adventures took on epic proportions.

Halfway through the meal, the conversation took a totally different turn as Simon and Naomi began to share similar memories of the sixties and seventies. Jim and Blair sat back and enjoyed, while occasionally sharing a conspiratorial grin. At one point, Blair whispered, Sentinel-soft, "Can my stepfather also be my boss?"

Jim promptly choked on his wine. For several minutes he sputtered and coughed as Simon and Naomi tried to help and Blair laughed hysterically.

During dessert, the conversation turned to more general matters such as the Jags, the merits of hitting a small white ball with something called a _wood_ or an _iron_ and the Italian Street Festival that would be taking place the following weekend. Over after-dinner brandy and coffee, Naomi mentioned that she would be staying in Cascade for several weeks, and no one missed the look of joy on Blair's face.

When they finally left the restaurant, Simon and Naomi fell a bit behind, both walking slowly, heads together as they talked softly. Blair gave Jim a subtle poke that the older man just knew would leave a bruise. "Can you hear them, Jim?"

"I'm not going to eavesdrop, Sandburg."

"I'm not going to eavesdrop, _Blair_."

"Yeah, what you said."

Sandburg turned, placed both hands on Jim's face, his fingers squeezing Jim's lips into a pucker. "It's _B-L-A-I-R_ , one syllable -- _Blair_. You can say it, come on Jim. Try -- _BLAIR_."

"Douche bag."

Feigning shock, eyebrows reaching the sky, Blair shook a finger at Jim. "Shame on you, Jimbo. Resorting to insulting names does nothing for your reputation You're a college graduate, I know you can be more creative than that."

Jim gave a quick glance back at their dinner companions and satisfied that they were busy with each other, he reached out and pulled Blair to him. "How's this -- slut, whore, _my_ whore, _my_ sex slave. Just wait until I get you home. Then you'll hear some words."

"That's my Jimbo. All words and no action, right _Jimbo_?"

"Action is my middle name, _Sandburg_."

"Well, _Jimbo_ , action tonight will be very difficult, even for you. What with me downstairs and you upstairs."

"Sandburg," Jim said threateningly.

"Jimbo," Blair said with equal menace, his lips curling and his eyes sparkling.

Jim leaned in close and said, "Bet I can show you all four of your top erogenous zones, _Sandburg_."

"Too bad all you can do is _show_ me, _Jimbo_ , what with me upstairs and you downstairs."

"I bet I could make you... _DOWNSTAIRS_?"

"I've decided _you_ should sleep downstairs."

"BLAIR!" Jim whined.

"See? I knew you could say it." Then, "Yes, Jim?" he asked innocently.

"uncle."

"Yep."

Simon and Naomi joined them and together, they walked into the hotel lobby where hugs were exchanged and Simon decided he should escort her to her room. Painfully aware of his two detectives watching him, he and Naomi stepped into the elevator. As the doors slid shut, he caught Blair waving and mouthing, "Night, Dad."

_Oh, shit_.

*****

"Now, about those erogenous zones, Jim."

"Um, yes. Remember our little bet of awhile back?"

"Oh, you mean the one I won and you lost?"

Jim cleared his throat and said, "Well, yes, that one. I think I can work a little magic, care to let me try?"

"So you're saying you know my four top zones? _Without_ using your senses?"

"Yep," Jim said proudly.

"And we think this is a major accomplishment?"

With less certainty, "... yes."

"After how long? How many times have we made love now?"

"Uh, a lot."

"Hell, you should know my top _ten_ zones by now, _Detective_ Ellison."

"I see your point. Suppose I say that I can give you the finest orgasm of your life by using just one zone and nothing else?"

"Race you upstairs."

Jim immediately thought of whirling dervishes as Blair the Blur whooshed past him. Jim would have caught him and passed him, if not for the clothing being tossed back at him. He managed to avoid the tie, but the jacket landed on his face and he almost fell trying to swat it away. The slacks came next, but he ducked. One shoe hit him square in the middle of his face as he tried to duck the shirt that came sailing down. He never saw the other shoe, but assumed it found a new home in the streets of Cascade. Socks flew by at an amazing rate of speed, as did a balled-up pair of briefs. By the time Jim made it up to their room, Blair was lying on his back, in the middle of their bed, wearing nothing but a challenging smile.

"Ah, Jim? You're still dressed, man."

With a great deal more care and precision than had just been exhibited by Blair, Jim Ellison undressed. He hung up his jacket and tie, dropped the shirt into the laundry basket, carefully folded the slacks on the crease and clipped them to their special hanger, then toed off his shoes. He sat down on the edge of the bed and pulled off his socks, tossing them on top of the shirt. Through his whole routine, Blair watched. And gave out with little moans. He noticed that Jim's hands were shaking as the socks were pulled off. He smiled wickedly.

Jim turned and gazed as his young lover. "You ready?"

"Think so, Jim. But you might still be a bit overdressed for the occasion."

"I don't think so, Chief. I don't want prove too much of a temptation for you. This is a zone thing, not a 'Who's got the beef' thing."

Blair's laughter burst from him like Old Faithful. He sat up, the chortles bubbling up and out. After a few seconds, he calmed and as he wiped his eyes, he said, "Man, you really have a rich fantasy life, Jim."

"Sandburg, you're going down."

He placed his hand, fingers splayed out, on Blair's face and pushed. The younger man went back, still laughing. "Okay, Ellison, give it your best -- shot. So to speak. You want me on my back or stomach?"

"Don't move an inch, Chief. You're perfect where you are."

Jim reached over and turned off the light, then straddled Blair, but down by his knees. He placed a hand on each thigh and gently pushed Blair's legs apart. He heard the snort of derision and smiled in the darkness. Then he leaned down and breathed lightly -- into Blair's navel.

"shit."

Jim smiled again. Oh, yeah, he had him now.

He could feel the minute tremors as he let his breath stroke the sensitive area around Blair's navel. He let his tongue swirl around the outer edge, not dipping in yet and was rewarded by a low, guttural sound that Blair tried desperately to quell. He continued with his version of 'around the world' until the tremors were small earthquakes. He placed his hands back on the trembling thighs, his thumbs resting on the inside. As he dipped his head in one more time, he cheated. He let his thumbs gently stroke the ultra-sensitive inner thighs.

"ohgod."

Jim rested his lips on the number one Blairzone and smiled -- Blair bucked. Jim licked the outer rim one more time, but alternating the licks with small puffs of air. Blair's cock was rock-hard and oozing and so close to Jim he was having difficulty staying away from it. To get his mind back on the job at hand, he let his tongue dip into the center and then delved deeper.

"jesusgodjimdon'tstopeverkillmenow."

Blair's fingers were gripping the bedspread, bunching it up so hard that it was off the floor and in folds around Blair's body. His hips were off the bed, and as Jim began to literally tongue-fuck his navel, Blair moved his hands to Jim's shoulders and the fingers dug in as more words spewed forth, their meaning known only to the type of person Fox Mulder would have called alien.

As Jim licked and sucked, his thumbs kept up their stimulation and it didn't take long. With a cry of, "jimjimjimjimjim", Blair came.

*****

"jim?"

"Hey, you're back among the living."

"i passed out?"

"Yep."

"how long?"

"It's been a couple of hours. You really had me worried, but you were smiling so damn big, I figured you'd be all right."

Blair hit him. "You liar. And you cheated, you asshole."

Rubbing his head, Jim turned on the light to see Blair glaring up at him. Grinning sheepishly, Jim shrugged and said, "All's fair in love and war, Chief. And living with you is both." He dropped down and pulled Blair onto his chest, wrapping his arms around him. "And how did you know I cheated?"

Blair shifted a bit, getting comfortable, then answered, "Like I couldn't feel your thumbs?"

"You let me."

"I'm no fool. And it _was_ the best orgasm of my life. And I didn't pass out, buzzard legs."

"Did so. Hell, your eyes rolled so far back in your head, you could see your spinal cord, penguin butt."

"Beef-witted malken."

"Camel lips."

"Pinch-spotted ratsbane."

"Buggering, churlish descendant of a malodorous pervert."

"Loggerheaded rug-headed jolthead!"

"Guano-chomping, frog-victimizing, carpet-bagging whelp."

"Hey, is that one from Megan?"

"Yeah, she's got a dozen of them, you seditious suckling of Pete Kosel's greasy tick-plagued loins."

"The only greasy tick-plagued loins I suckle are yours, you ill-breeding pumpion."

"Yeah? Did I tell you Naomi wants to be a grandmother, you, you, you..."

"Handsome hunk of hairy hunkiness?"

"What you said. And no comment, Chief?"

"Hey, Daryl's a strapping young man. He can give her tons of grandchildren."

God, he loved it when Jim laughed. With his ear firmly planted against the broad chest, he grinned. No better sound in the universe. After several quite moments, Jim's laughter turning to small and occasional chuckles, Blair lifted his head and rested his chin on Jim's sternum. "You held on, Jim."

"You thought I wouldn't?"

"You _are_ insecure. But you knew."

"There is one thing in this world that I'm sure of and that's you. It took me a good many years to get to this point, and I've certainly put you through hell, but I do know, Blair. You love me. And I'm only doing now, what you've been doing for three years, Blair."

"What?"

"Holding on."

*****

 

> Sometimes, all a man can do is hold on -- for dear life.

Finis

  
**Disclaimer:** All characters from **The Sentinel** are the property of Pet Fly Productions, Danny Bilson and Paul DeMeo. Characters from any other television show, movie or book are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. We believe the works contained in this archive to be transformative in nature and therefore protected under the 'fair use' provisions of copyright law.

This story archived at <http://asr3.slashzone.org/archive/viewstory.php?sid=1276>


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